Elphaba, Mike Tyson and My Cold, Dead Hands

What is it about time?

 It's fleeting, yet can drag so slowly and chaotically like a child's blanket...clung to desperately and yet trailing behind picking up dirt and debris along the way.

We relish the wisdom we gain through years of experiences; good, bad and indifferent. Yet we long to hold on to our youth. It IS wasted on the young after all, right? 

As an almost 46 year old sage, I look back on so much. Familial memories, evolved and eradicated friendships, loves lost, jobs changed and career found. Trauma, experience, reflection. 

I was recently asked, if I could go back and change anything in my life, what would it be. And to be honest now, it would be nothing. 

Had you asked me many years and therapists ago, I would have likely listed a barrage of life events...taking back so much loss, taking back being raped, taking back years of abusive relationships. 

I would have willed so many people I lost to death were still here. My Father, Grandfather, friends, Walt... that the hardships, near homelessness and depression I had experienced never would have happened at all. 

To view it like I was watching a movie of what my life could have been...my own Ghost of Christmas Future moment. An out of body Dickens experience. 

And yet now, despite the years of horrible things I've endured, I see it all now as a badge of honor. I bent yes, like a willow in a hurricane, but I did not break. 

I have realized the culmination of my life has brought me where I am now. A road not necessarily diverged in a yellow wood, and certainly not always well paved. A road in classic Massachusetts style. Loaded with detours, seemingly endless construction and potholes. With my internal GPS constantly recalculating my route. And definitely lots of F bombs. So.many.F.bombs.

I learned who I am throughout this journey. To own my mistakes and to also learn that it wasn't always my fault. I am not responsible for other people's shit. I could lead a horse to water, but if that horse sank in the mud like Artax in the Neverending Story, it wasn't my fault.

Other people's thoughts and intentions are not and never have been MY burden to carry. I am solely responsible for how I respond. For my own words and actions. I get to take my experiences and share them. I can only own my part to play in the theater of life.

I get to empathize and help others. To make my life's mission what's now a TikTok challenge. To listen and not judge. Nosy as I may appear 

I get to set boundaries and know my worth. I get to decide nonnegotiables and compromises. But I also get to be vulnerable and overthink. To question things due to my past experiences and let's face it...traumas...and to learn to trust my gut. It is somehow surprisingly accurate when I don't ignore it.

Aging may be something to physically fight, and like the Mike Tyson/ Jake Paul match, it may just be all about marketing...or eye cream and botox and crossfit. There may be little blue pills and the constant need to defy gravity like Elphaba. 

But the mental fortitude I've gained from my experiences is something you won't be able to pry from my cold, dead hands.

Ode to New England 2021

Blustery and crisp
The last days of fresh cut grass
Indian Summer days lingering, sparesly
Frost becomes the morning dew
Car windows sheathed in icy white
Multitudes of colors
Reds, oranges and yellows
Green becoming a memory
Covered sidewalks and gutters
Once bountifully leaved trees
Becoming barren
Layered clothing replaces skin baring attire
Coats rescued from their summer havens
Closets rearranged for the impending cold
Sweaters, scarves, hats
Baseball fans lay idle, reawaiting spring
Football, Hockey overtake the airwaves
Cups once dripping with condensation from iced beverages
Transformed to steaming mugs of java, cocoa
Bipolar New England days
Snow one day, near summer temperatures the next
The slight rumble of heaters in homes
Warm and inviting
Days shorter
Night transcending quicker
BBQ's covered and oven's ablaze
Fall in New England

Change and F*cking Cake

Why are human beings so resistant to change? Why do we continue to torture ourselves by staying in situations that we know deep down are probably not a good idea? Surround ourselves with the same things day in and day out, and expect everything else around us to change for us and become better eventually but not want to do any of the actual work required to actually make changing anything worthwhile?

The Devil you know beats the Devil you don't.

You know how to handle things when they're the same, even when they're shitty. Because it's always the same shitty. You know it will eventually become, well less shitty. But then you know it was also become shitty again.

Prolific I know.

It sucks not knowing what will happen next. There is almost some sort of soothing routine feeling even when things are bad. You expect them to be bad so you just deal accordingly. You numb yourself to it. It becomes all you know really. And change, well change is new territory.

You don't know if it will actually be better. You don't know that it will be worse than where you have settled into in life. It's akin to living in New England. That's how I see it. The weatherman constantly promising beautiful, warm and sunny days, but instead you're greeted with a chill in the air and wet from the rain. You lose faith in him eventually. His promise of a better tomorrow soon falls on deaf ears. You just chalk it up to another shitty day and get on with it, vowing to never trust the weatherman.

I tend to hold on to things I love even if I know they are slowly killing me. Like the diabetic who sneaks cake in the middle of the night. Or the grounded child who sneaks his video game under a blanket with a flashlight. Some things, no matter how much you love them just aren't good for you.

I would get moments of strength and hold strong to not pursuing it, but then I'd get weak. I'd remember the good parts of it thinking it outweighed the bad, and just like everything else like it, it didn't last very long before the negative effects took place.

You don't notice the fat on your thighs while you're eating the cake, you notice a little while later that your pants have become tighter and the only way to get back into them is to stop eating the fucking cake. Which sounds way easier than it ever is, of course.

I vowed on New Years Eve to greet this year with positivity. To not dread the days ahead, but to focus on the imminent future. Baby steps. One day at a time. Every self-help book cliche I could cling to. And for the most part, It worked. I blindly trudged on. I took everything for what it was. Kept telling my self "well this sucks, BUT it could always be worse..." I tried to be grateful for what little I had left. I clung to it like a child holding onto a stuffed animal to keep the nightmares at bay.

And look, I like my 90% of the time attempt at focusing on what is still ok rather than what could be worse, but today is a 10% day where all I can see is the shit.

When I took a paycut at work and my hours were reduced I was upset. I was devastated even, but I muscled through it. I gritted my teeth and I took a deep breath and I said ok. This sucks, BUT on the plus side you still have a job and they promised it was temporary. Suck it up, Buttercup.

So I went in, day after day as though nothing happened. Good attitude, good work ethic. Doing everything I could to act as though nothing had changed. Money became tighter sure, but it was still sort of coming in.

A month or so later in March when they actually laid me off, I again took it in stride. I knew they were slow, that my position wasn't the "bread and butter" of the business so to speak. I took it as an opportunity to start my own business. I could consult for them, they seemed thrilled with the idea. Even sent me packing with office supplies, a laptop, printer and an order of business cards. A sort of unconventional severence package. I left feeling as though it was a new chapter beginning. I continued to fight through my former Debbie Downer mentality and tell myself it was a good thing.

Then I filed for unemployment. And I figured, ok. So I won't have a check for a week but then I'll collect and it will be tight but I'll be ok. Until unemployment took over 6 weeks to kick in. I kept telling myself it would all be ok. That it would be retroactive and I would be able to catch up and all will be fine.

I updated my resume. I created a website and Facebook page for my "new" business. I contacted staffing agencies and went on job interviews. Then I waited for the phone to ring. For the email alert on my phone to show an inbox full of promise.

Silence.

Automated withdrawals I had naturally forgotten about continued to hit my now very bleak bank account. Fee after fee then started to accrue, leaving me overdrawn. Yet I persisted with my new-to-me attitude of focusing on the positive, even though it was becoming harder and harder to do so. I would tell myself that today was the day! Every day. And naturally it wasn't.

When that fateful day did come when the Massachusetts government got their shit together and finally paid me, they deducted an "overpayment" from a 2 year old previous claim. That was, as a matter of fact, THEIR error. Which they sent me a letter regarding, stating that if in fact I was not at fault for said over payment error (which I was not, according to them) that I would not be responsible for paying it back. Big fucking lie right there. But I digress...

So between the fees, the overdrawn account and the now piddly excuse for a retroactive payment. I was no better off really. But I still held strong to that resolution. I'll be damned if I was going to have myself a pity party! I said again to myself I'd get back on track and all would be ok with the world.

So I decided last month to look at schools. More specifically Cosmetology school. Because clearly continuing on the corporate path I had been on as an office minion of sorts in the past few years shitty economy had clearly not advanced my life in any way. When I had been laid off back the time prior I told myself if it ever happened again I was going to say fuck it and go to hairdressing school.

Well. I am. Call it a mid-life crisis, call it whatever the fuck you want, but I went to visit a couple schools. I applied for financial aid. I got accepted. Holy shit. I just turned 35 and I am starting all over again. Like going to college right after high school. But I wasn't a spring chicken. I didn't just graduate from good old Holbrook High again, I was now a graduate of the School of Fucking Hard Knocks at Life University.

I had thought about it before, I made excuses as to why it was a good idea in theory but would never work. I couldn't support myself not working. What would I do with my kid? I would have to start out in some piece of shit salon. I would have to build a clientele.

I scared myself shitless. There never seemed to be the right time for it, so it was a back-burner idea. A sort of private joke with myself.

But then I get an offer to be a part time receptionist in the salon I go to. With an owner who was excited I was going to get my license. A nice, higher end salon with a great atmosphere and a great location for walk ins to build a clientele. In a town I live in with great friends who would actually come to me. I got accepted to a school 18 minutes away from my house. It was actually do-able now.

Change. It was real now, tangible.

But now that it's so close, my resolve is wavering.

I herniated a disc in my back again. I could have taken it as a sign but no, I found a chiropractor that very day and worked to get better before I started school. And it's working. Again, I held on to the notion that things will be ok, although I was noticing my grip was getting a lot looser.

Yesterday I came home from his office to see that my power had been cut off. The mounting pile of bills I'd been avoiding in my mailbox clearly catching up to me. I instantly called them and begged to work out a deal. Explained my financial situation in all of it's embarrassing glory. They swore to me that I would have my power back by 5:30pm. Excellent. Seeing as it was around 11am I thought all would be fine and corrected before Dylan got out of school.

Being it was daylight and I had no TV to lose myself in as I had become accustomed to doing lately, I was left to my own thoughts. I started stewing in my own juices. That loose hold I had left on my newly found positive outlook released and I was fully engaged in my own pity party.

What the fuck was I doing? School? Now? What the hell was I thinking? I am so far behind in everything! I have gotten laid off over and over again and I started to blame myself for incompetence and not the economy. Not the down-sizing or position eliminating, or hell even the fact that a bunch of them were actually temporary jobs. There had to be something wrong with me, right? All the amazing references I had ever gotten had to be bullshit, didn't they? A way for the Big Brass to feel better about letting go the single mother. I was on a self-deprecating roll.

I recounted my failed relationship with my ex-boyfriend. How hard and emotional the last year and a half had been since we broke up. And tried. And broke up again. And then tried again. And then broke up yet again. The failed ones before that. I saddened myself further by rethinking of the betrayals I suffered at the hands of someone who had been my life long bet friend. Not the first I considered a best friend to turn on me. Thinking of people I used to be close with who are now just a yearly "Happy Birthday" on Facebook. I was staring at old pictures, text messages, emails and thinking of all the might-have-beens and slowly drowning myself in tears like Alice in Wonderland, creating a churning sea of bitterness, sadness and loneliness below me.

I called my mother, because that's of course what you do when you're sad. You need her. I no longer have a best friend to vent to, to call up and man-bash or job-bash or discuss whatever stupid celebrity did whatever stupid thing they were currently doing. My mother and I have had our differences sure, but she is the closest thing I have to a BFF. I was grateful for her at least.

"Am I such a bad person that I deserve to have so much shit happen to me all the time?? Why is that when everything starts going ok the universe pulls the rug out from underneath and screams "Just Kidding!" What did I do to deserve this?! I'm going to be alone forever! I'm so fat and old now." and the like. I vented.

And she listened, as mother's do. She reminded me that bad shit happens to everyone. And as I talked to her I took a deep breath and remembered my resolution. I had to be positive. Things could always be worse. My mother lost my father, her ability to work and her eyesight but was still thankful to be alive. Grateful to still enjoy a perfectly cooked steak and an ice cold beer.

Perspective.

So today, the electricity was turned back on. I'm fairly eager to start school on Monday and I am once again trying to see the bright side of things on this gloomy New England day. I have unemployment and even though it's not a lot it's something. I have a part time job and I am gaining experience in the field I am about to launch myself into. My son is happy and healthy, and my back no longer feels like someone is behind me stabbing me incessantly. I live in a town that I love, and I have made some pretty amazing friends here. Things could always be worse, right? It's not easy, but I'm still going to do my damndest to hold on to that resolution. For dear life.

And I really need to stay away from the fucking cake.

Flash Back Friday

My GENIUS child from Apryl Rossi on Myspace.

Something like that.

You know that sucks?

Knowing that something isn't right. Knowing that you cause each other more hurt than good and making the intensely difficult choice to walk away. Knowing that you can love and hate someone at the very same time. Having to block someone from being able to contact you because you know if you see it it will kill you. Constantly unblocking them to see if and when they tried to contact you. Trying to move on and not being able to. Seeing them write the words they are in love with someone else and feeling like every organ in your body aside from your tear ducts have stopped working.

Knowing you deserve better than to be constantly reminded of every mistake you'd ever made or shortcoming you had yet still not being able to imagine your life without someone even though being with them was slowly killing you. Knowing you are doing everything you can to make your life better and feeling empty. Feeling like you don't deserve anything better than the hell you've been put through. Feeling like you'll never be good enough. Knowing you need to keep doing what you're doing even though it's hard and trying to be optimistic that something good will come of it.

Yeah. Something like that.

The Difference Between Freedom of the Press and the Tact and Class to not Glorify a Terrorist.

I am all for freedom of the press. I don't think people should be restricted in their opinions or what they want to write, HOWEVER I think that Rolling Stone could have used a little more common sense in the wake of something so tragic. You want the article inside? Great. You want to use that picture? Go nuts, but does that monster deserve the cover? No way in fucking hell.

The cover of Rolling Stone is a coveted and earned honor. To date the most controversial covers have been usually full of nude and strategically posed celebrities. Charles Manson has been the only criminal who made the cover, well before social media shoved it down our throats every 3 seconds on someone's newsfeed. (Well, Roman Polanski could also be counted as a criminal, but he was certainly not a terrorist)

The people of Boston and overall the Commonwealth of Massachusetts are expressing hurt and outrage that 3 months after the tragic events at the finish line of the Boston Marathon Rolling Stone is seeming to glorify a terrorist. That the are showing Dzhokhar Tsarnaev as a heart throb teenager and making it look as though he was not in fact responsible for his actions. That he was this all his family's fault. Because at 19 he clearly had no control over his actions and mindset, right? Bullshit.

I get it Rolling Stone, I get that you wanted to write an article to find answers to questions that have been plaguing the people of Boston for 3 months. How did this happen? Why did this happen? What could have caused a 19 year old to built a weapon designed for mass murder and mayhem? We want those answers too, but we have not once attempted to empathize or sympathize with a man who killed 4 innocent people and maimed over 250 others.

As a lifelong resident of Massachusetts, having grown up exactly 17.31 miles from the Boston Marathon finish line, I have always known people who have run. People who went to watch. People who had family and friends run. One of my best friends sister's crossed the finish line within minutes of the bomb going off (thankfully she was uninjured). My little cousin was there with friends from college watching and thankfully decided at the last minutes to NOT watch at the finish line but farther down the route.

Sure, people around the country and even the world saw the events as they unfolded on the news. Sure they felt awful and the outpouring of support was amazing. The people of Massachusetts banded together in such a way that the term "Boston Strong" became a nationwide moniker for how we handled the turmoil around us.

Everyone saw the horrific pictures of people like Jeff Bauman being wheeled through the clouds of smoke, the arteries in his now missing legs being tenderly held by his rescuer Carlos Arredondo as they raced to get him medical attention. Everyone saw the AP photos and video footage that peppered every media outlet in the aftermath.

What the rest of the country didn't see was what the people of Massachusetts saw daily.

My sister lives in Watertown, the town that was on lock down and ultimately where this little fucker was caught hiding in a boat in David Henneberry's backyard. She had armed tactical officers knock on her door. The streets were lined with armored vehicles slowly cruising down it. They were not allowed to leave their homes. She heard the gunshots a couple streets over from where she lives.

I sat on the edge of my seat watching as things unfolded, listening to the police scanners and calling my sister to make sure she was ok and no where near what was happening. She WAS near. Safely in her home yes, but near enough to hear the gun battle that ensued between Rolling Stone's cover boy and the Watertown and State Police.

Dzhokhar Tsarnaev is not a rockstar and should not be treated as such. He should not be given the privilege of what so many actual musicians and celebrities aspire for by getting the cover of Rolling Stone. He should not be made a martyr for young extremists the world over. He is a terrorist. His face should adorn a post office wanted poster not be plastered all over pop culture as an icon on newsstands across the globe.

There is a difference between freedom of the press and having the tact and class to not glorify a terrorist.

You want a cover photo? Try one of these 20 options I so graciously put together for you:

Ashton Kutcher is Hiding in My Head

Another 4 days gone and my slacker ass is doing what it does best. Slacking.

I spent the weekend peeling like Goldmember in an Austin Powers movie. My 4th of July sunburn apparently k=just isn't ready to stop annoying the shit out of me yet. Not sure why exactly it takes your skin so long to turn reptilian and shed itself, but it's itchy and annoying and making my post-sunburn tan look more like vitiligo than an even golden brown.

In any event, here are the last few days of my challenge, as slackingly promised.


Day 12:
Share: Your Bucket List

Um, I don't necessarily have a bucket list. Not an official one anyway. I suppose this would be the time to now instantly come up with some crap I want to do before I die, huh?

Ok, so I would like to go somewhere that requires a passport before I die. I know you now need one for Mexico and even Canada, which is just plain weird since I went to both countries before that was a rule. I want to go somewhere that is not attached to the United States. I mean technically I guess I go to Martha's Vineyard a lot and that's an island so not technically attached, but I basically live on Cape Cod and I don't think that counts.

I want to go someplace tropical, I want to go to Europe. I think I can do without Asia having once again recently watched Bridget Jones and fearing that my naivete may also wind me up in some sort of Tibetan prison due to some random person trying to use my awesomeness to try to smuggle something funky out of the country. You all know my luck. NOT on bucket list is to end up in a Tibetan prison. Or any prison for that matter. Not my idea of a good time.

I would like to finally finish my degree before I die. It's been like a 15 year journey, and I am certainly in no rush but I would like to finally hold that piece of paper (silly you pay so much money for a piece of paper after all) proudly and tell the world to bite me. Well, maybe not the entire world, but those who may or may not have made me feel like it wasn't possible.

I want to get married someday (stop laughing). It sucks that my dad isn't around to witness it, but I want to. I want the white dress (again, stop laughing!!) and the whole "Oh my god she looks so beautiful!" reactions as I emerge from whatever door I'll be popping out of. I want to register for fabulous gifts that other people will lovingly (or annoyingly...tomato) pick out for me from a carefully selected assortment of things to start my new life off with Mr. Wonderful right. (and not Mr. Wonderful from Shark Tank, ew)

I may even want another kid. (who are we kidding right?)

Most of all I want to be happy. I want to know what it's like to not live paycheck to paycheck. I want to live drama free. Well, sort of. I think we all need a little drama to make things exciting, but I don't want BAD drama. I don't want vindictive, I don't want hurtful. I want happy. I want love. Unconditional, passionate, silly, ridiculous, real love. I don't want a pissing match, I don't want a tit-for-tat. I want to argue sure, because arguing is cathartic sometimes, but I don't want drag out nasty anything anymore. I don't want to be made to feel like a bad person for anything I may or may not have done. I don't want to feel accused, or threatened. A little jealousy is flattering, but not in a crazy possibly end up in the trunk of a car kind of thing. I just want things to be right. Right in the way that I will be forgetting who each other is in a nursing home someday but falling in love all over again by the end of the day. *sigh*

Day 13:
Something you've been putting off

Everything?!

Kidding. (sort of) I've been putting off training and exercising and dieting. I WANT to, I NEED to, I just, struggle. Shocking I know since I can't even get my act together enough for a daily challenge and do like a week at a time right?

I signed up for a 5K to try to hold myself accountable so I would HAVE to train. Not just any 5K, one with ridiculous obstacles and wearing something totally ridiculous.

Yes, the Diva Dash. Paid, registered. Me. I can't really believe it myself and am waiting for the Ashton Kutcher hiding in my head to tell me I've been Punk'd! by myself. So far he hasn't shown up so I'm pretty sure it's the real deal.

So, feel free to nudge me (and by nudge I mean brutally force) to work out. To eat right and at least walk or something. My lazy ass needs to be kicked into gear.

Day 14:
Memories: Been to any concerts?

As a matter of fact, a shit ton. My first concert was The Monkees when I was 5 years old. I had an obsession with Davy Jones, much like everyone else in the 60's, only it was the 80's and I was in love with the Davy on the reruns I would watch from the 60's. Makes perfect sense.

I've seen so many concerts in so many genres. New Kids on the Block, Coldplay, Bon Jovi, Toby Keith, Rascal Flatts, Jewel, Motley Crue, Guns n Roses, Sammy Hagar, Bush, Rob Thomas, Rancid, The Ramones, The Cure, Oasis, Blur. So many I can't even remember them all. I even went to Lollapolooza in 1995.


Day 15:
Tell me: How are you like your ma/pa?

First of all, I am not a member of the Clampets. I called my parents Mom and Dad. Occasionally Ma, and Daddy when I really wanted something.

I am like my father more than anything I think. I will strike up a conversation with anyone and have someone become very Kevin Bacon like in that I am somehow connected to the whole world. I know someone somehow everywhere I go. I am also strong willed like he was and will not back down. I will call and yell at whomever I need to to get things done right.

I think I get my sense of humor from my mom though, and my slick dance moves.

Don't Put the Baby in The Microwave

Not to say I told you so or anything, but I told you all I would completely slack off and screw this whole challenge thing up, only took until Day 3. I'm a rebel.

In my own defense, I was off work from the afternoon of the 3rd until Monday and don't have a computer at home because I'm ghetto, and really who wants to sit and attempt to write a big long crazy blog post with your pokey little finger on your cell phone? I know it's smart and all, but that would have been entirely too much effort. Besides, I was too busy, you know, melting into my couch night after night while my child was away on vacation having fun and I had a few stellar dates with my DVR.

So, back to the matter at hand. Time to play catch-up and go through the past few days of the 31 day challenge. Why would I ever think of doing it in the orthodox way? Sheesh, you people don't know me at all.

Day 4:
5 Favorite Blogs

Well, considering I have overall slacked in the blogging department as a whole, I unfortunately have a lot of reading my dear friends to catch up on as well. However, In my years of blogging I have come to love and appreciate some of my fellow cyberspace writers and I will absolutely share them with you. And naturally, you should race right over to their pages and read until your eyes cross, or um get inspired or something. Yeah. That's the ticket!

First of all, you should head over to read Lauren's blog over at [hip-ster-krit] because she's awesome. She writes with thought and craft and her outlook on her life is amazing. She has lived a truly cool life and resides in the uber cool city of Austin, Texas. She has a fascination with Jeff Goldblum and mustaches and that's reason enough to go read her.

Second, you should head over to my dear friend Cath at I Started at the C-Prompt. Her and I have a special story that began a few years back and we have since realized our lives were mirrored. Not just by hemisphere and continent but by life's quirky circumstances and I adore her. She writes a blog, she writes for Parent 24 and she does a little bit of everything in South Africa and that's just pretty damn cool.

Third, You should read I Shouda Been a Stripper because she's hilarious.

Fourth, My friend Christine and I have known each other since like junior high. We even ended up working together for a while. She's smart, quick witted and a mom of 3 great kids. I miss her to pieces now that we don't see each other (aside from everyone's daily reunion on Facebook, obviously) but her blog is still a great outlet for her and definitely worth a read! Head over to The Foley File: Random Musings of a Married Mother of Three and see for yourself.

Fifth, Um I am sort of petering out on this one. I can cheat and say that I have a list of fabulous blogs you can link to from my blog and you can make up your own damn mind. Humphf.


Day 5:
Share: The Best Advice You've Ever Gotten

"Don't eat yellow snow."

I seriously have no idea about this one, I feel as though if I had really gotten the best advice of my life I would have not been in as many pickles as I have been in my 34 (*gasp I'm old) years.

Ok so there have been people who have said to "follow your heart" and every other cliche that can be thought of to cover just about any situation I found myself needing advice about. Some of it was helpful, some of the time I wanted to shove those words back into the person's mouth because I obviously knew that already, duh. It's a hard thing to do to figure out the best advice you've ever been given.

I had a little game at my baby shower where all the guests and supposed seasoned parents would write down a piece of advice for me as a new mother. The only one that really stuck out I believe was from my sister, who coincidentally is anti-children and didn't see my son until he was 6 months old and that was only because it was Easter and my Aunt chased her around a pool table at my cousin's house shouting "Look at your nephew! Look at your nephew!" as my sister ran away in fear. In any event, the little card simply read "Don't put the baby in the microwave". Life lesson learned.


Day 6:
Something for your kids to know

I want my son to know I love him more than life itself. That I would take every line of Bruno Mars "Grenade" song to heart and sacrifice everything I have for him. I know that song is about an unappreciative douche bag and all, but I think the whole I would catch a grenade for you thing works in protecting your children.

I want him to know that I am not perfect, but I try. That people always make mistakes and that it's human nature to do so. The key is to learn from those mistakes. The key is to try to never make the same one twice. The key is to not beat yourself up about them and to certainly not allow anyone else to do that for you either. (and I certainly need to learn to heed my own advice on this one for sure)

I want him to know that he is smart and funny and handsome and goofy and to stay that way forever. That he is amazingly talented and that he needs to always surround himself with people who lift him up and not bring him down. That he has a voice and he should always use it. That he should stand up for himself but never be a bully. That he should not allow anyone else to judge him and that he should do his best never to judge others because being different is what makes the world great. If we all walked around like drones and conformed to everything we may as well walk off the cliff into the meat grinder like Pink Floyd envisioned in The Wall.

I want him to never be afraid to try new things. To not decide he doesn't like something before he tried it. I've tried to work this motto in with food and so far so good. I don't have a super picky eater and I hope it translate into everything for him as he grows up.

I want him to laugh. To never be afraid to be happy, but to never be happy at someone else's expense. I want him to strive for greatness and to never give up on something he loves, no matter what anyone else's opinion is about it, because we all know what opinions are like.

I want him to be healthy. To not just hole himself up in a room in front of a television or video game for days at a time (ok so he does have days like this now, but I try to squash it) and then grow up to never leave my basement and have zero grasp of reality or how to interact with real people. No. I want him to still love to play outside. To run to dance to play to explore. To allow his imagination to continue to thrive and to push him to believe that anything he can dream is possible.

I want him to keep doing well in school. To use his gifts to carry him through life and go to college. I want him to accomplish more in his life than I ever did. I want him to be successful and happy and loved by everyone who he meets.

I want him to respect adults and women. I want him to treat people as he wants to be treated and to grow up holding doors and paying people compliments. People may forget things you did but never how you made them feel. I want him to make people feel he is a good egg, even if he's slightly cracked.

I want him to appreciate what he has and has been given and never expect things to be handed to him. I never want him to expect things for no reason. I want to earn his accolades and not to expect something just for showing up. Life doesn't work that way. You earn awards and promotions. You have to try hard to accomplish things in life, not just get something for participating. You HAVE to participate in life, you shouldn't get rewarded for it.

I want him to know he is my whole world and that he changed me. He taught be to be selfless and how to love harder and fiercer than I ever thought humanly possible. And for that I want him to know I am grateful to him and will be for the rest of my life.

(end sap)


Day 7:
Memories: What's your earliest one?

I have the world's worst memory. My brother actually makes fun of me for it all the time. In my hypochondriac mind I believe it's a sign of early onset Alzheimer's or something, but I am probably just neurotic. Or I read it on WebMD and along with a bevy of other ailments I am likely to self-diagnose myself with as my ultimate demise.

I grew up on a make-shift farm. Not a working farm mind you, but you see my family is well, odd. (If you've ever met them or read anything I've ever written about them you are nodding your head in agreement as we speak)

It all started because my brother was born a pain in the ass. Literally. He wouldn't stop crying. He was colicky and was constantly throwing everything up. So, in an exhausted state my father was working for an old woman in Boston somewhere. She was either Haitian or Jamaican or of some other island origin I can't exactly recall.

My dad must have been taking to her about my brother's lack of sleep and eating therefore causing my parents lack of sleep and moodiness. In any event, this mystery woman emerged and handed my father a container and told him to give it to the baby. Because it was 1980 and the world wasn't nearly as fucked up as it apparently is now, my dad said sure why the hell not.

So he took the container home and gave it to my brother as instructed. Like magic he slept, stopped crying and didn't projective vomit whatever this miracle liquid was. Of course my father tells the woman it worked and asked what it was. Goats milk.

So naturally being a level-headed man, my father went out and bought goats. And the rest of our hodge podge menagerie grew from there.

Anyway, back to the point. We had a farm. We also had a turkey. My dad, again in all his brilliance, got the turkey to plump up and then slaughter for Thanksgiving dinner in good old fashioned New England tradition.

The turkey had other plans. She was a character all her own and every time we would have music playing on the "yard" side of the property she would mosey over to the fence as close as she could and start dancing. Well we obviously couldn't eat her so we named her Theresa. She quickly moved into our dog Chachi's house and then poor dog was forced to sleep on the roof, like snoopy.

Again, Theresa in all her glory laid eggs as female birds do. She however left them unattended. And my 3 year old self thought eggs had to be sat on in order to hatch. I did watch Looney Toons and that happened all the time. So, not realizing that unfertilized turkey eggs would not hatch, I sat on the eggs, in the blazing heat of summer. And as eggs do when left out in the blistering sun, they had let's say fermented.

So I sat on a nest of rotten eggs on a ghetto farm in the middle of suburbia at 3 years old.


Day 8:
Tell Me: Currently reading anything?

Sadly no. I have a library book that is so overdue that it's been close to a year out I think and I never got myself into it. I also have a buttload on my Kindle but haven't had time to peruse even the slightest magazine. I've been a sucker for the TV. May need to work on that.


Day 9:
Women: What's in your purse?

Well that's opening a Pandora's box in and of itself. My purse is sort of like Mary Poppins bag, I never have any idea what I could pull out of it. Mostly it's just a straight up mess. 900 shades of lip gloss, my wallet, a bunch of random receipts. I did have pepper spray but I took it out when I flew last month so now it's sitting on my coffee table. Safe I know. My car keys, sunglasses, a couple inhalers. It's a mess. See?

Day 10:
Share: Old photos of yourself

Here's a bunch to tide you over. Yes I have always been fabulous.

Day 11:
Your Favorite: 10 songs right now

In no particular order:



















and just for good measure

Bloglovin

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

No pressure or anything, but just do it, K?

You May Find Yourself Living in a Shotgun Shack

Day 3:

Why do you blog?

Is it weird that by reading this question that The Talking Heads "Once in a Lifetime" popped into my head? Not exactly sure the exact correlation between reading "Why do you blog" and that song, but my coffee clearly hasn't kicked in yet and eff you for judging me!!

I always loved English. Not the people (although I have nothing against tea and crumpets and what not, but you know what I mean) but the subject. I have been an avid reader since I was 3. I could always immerse myself into what I was reading, envisioning exactly what the writer was seeing as they put their words to life on paper. Characters would resonate with me, they would become more than an imagined protagonist, they became my friends. I felt I knew them, that I too was there in what ever scenario their life was playing out in chapter after chapter.

I sort of hated pictures in books. They never lived up to my imagination of whatever character was being portrayed. When I read Dan Brown's "Davinci Code" a few years back, I was so engrossed in his description of the main character that when I learned they cast Tom Hanks I refused to see the movie, already angry since he had clearly described his main character as "Harrison Ford in Harrison tweed". I mean, Harrison Ford is still a love and well so once would think a natural casting choice, but I digress.

I always wrote. I would write poems as young as I could remember. Essay assignments in school that would cause my fellow classmates to cringe in collective groans would have my mind reeling with excitement at the chance to go home and write for hours. I always got an A in English. I took everything I could as I got older. Journalism, Shakespeare, Literature. Anything that would allow me to write, to read.

I used to blog as it were on a variety of sites over the years. I would write sort of essay-esque editorial rants just because I could. My MySpace page of yore was littered with them. Remember MySpace? Just a few short years ago it was the coolest hippest thing in town, and now it's about as awesome as a rotary phone. A distant memory of a technology that is obsolete and dated even though it was the most innovative thing of 2007. Crazy.

Anyway, I pooled all my miscellaneous internet rants and what not into once place in 2009. People would react to what I wrote. They emoted whether in a positive way or not, they reacted. I realized I was touching people somehow. That they too had the same reaction to whatever it was that pissed me off that day. That they too felt whatever I felt at any given moment. All those times I felt alone and completely insane for whatever estrogen or otherwise fueled emotional drama I was facing at the time, someone somewhere had been there too. Who knew?!

I had always wanted to be a writer. I was the editor of my high school newspaper. I aspired to be great, an idealistic teenager who wanted to change the world. Clearly reality has set in now that I'm in my 30's and I realize that my chances of being some sort of world renowned author are slim to none. I was published here and there over the years. An op-ed in a Vermont newspaper when I was 18, a tribute to a local hero in another newspaper a few years back. I even got a poem published in a book, which I then realized I basically paid to be in, but it's got an ISBN number so I'll take it. Blogging is it.

I don't have deadlines. I don't have editors. I don't have censorship. I can write what I want when I want how I want. You don't have to like it, you don't have to agree with it. I can live within my own little internet bubble. Granted I haven't done anything in ages, but that's the beauty of it. I can pick up right where I left off and not get in trouble. Not worry about having failed someone except myself.

I remember stumbling across a blog years ago. An article of sorts that resonated with me so wholeheartedly I felt as though it were written and directed straight at me. I remember my reaction to her words. I thought, "Wow, this is my life!". She was from South Africa. What?! My mind was blown. Across the world, on a different continent, in a different hemisphere than myself someone's life mirrored my own. We were kindred spirits. And now, we're friends. (and you can check out her awesome blog I Started at the C Prompt)

If I can touch just one person (and not in a creepy way, so get those thoughts out of your head this instant. This INSTANT I said!) and affect them as she did me, if I can be relatable and maybe help at least one person feel less alone, then I have succeeded. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I Start Fresh on Mondays

What better way to get back on the blogging bandwagon than to force myself into a 31 day blog challenge?!

Let's be serious, I am totally going to screw it up, much like when I try to diet. I'm a firm believe of the "Start Fresh on Monday" school of thought and usually by late Tuesday I am already ready to "Start Fresh on Monday" again since I have usually eaten something that just by smell alone is clogging my arteries, but for shits and giggles let's pretend I don't procrastinate or not finish things I start, K?

Anywho, I was perusing the old internet and trying to coerce myself into thinking of new blog fodder and stumbled across a 31 day challenge. Low and behold, July has 31 days. Even my math-retarded ass can figure that one out. And hey, it's only the 2nd, so I can pull off 2 posts in one day right?? Right???

So here goes, Day 1 and 2....because I do it my way damnit.

Day 1:

Intro & Recent Photo

Oh hai! That's me. Last month (technically June is now last month so it's totally the right way to put it) on a business trip in North Carolina. That's right, I said business trip. I'm kind of a big deal now. I know I was all "I'm unemployed" and "I need a job" for the longest time ever, but now BOOM! I've got not only one but TWO titles at work and actually like what I do.

With one hat I'm the Technology and Marketing Director (take that bitches!) and with the other I am the Generator Sales and Services Manager. I know, I can hardly contain myself either. I have 2 sets of business cards, 2 email signatures. It's anarchy. I have an iPad and I get to travel for miscellaneous things. So far I've been to Baltimore, MD and Asheville, NC. I also go back and forth to Martha's Vineyard all the time. I know, revel in your jealousy. I'll give you a minute.

Aside from now being all kinds of important in my 9-5 life, I am a board member on the PTA. Stop snickering assholes, I'm totally serious. I am working mom extraordinaire and I can't even tell you how the hell that even happened. My PTA is pretty badass though. We're not a bunch of those Stepfordish douches who make you feel inadequate if you can't make a bunt cake. No way Jose, we're all just cool. I mean, I think so anyway, but people on the outside looking in could have a completely different picture of my little Mom bubble, but don't pop it ok? I kind of like my delusions thank you very much.

My almost 9 year old son is also a badass. He's quirky and funny and random and completely a pain in the ass, but he's MY pain in the ass. He was diagnosed with Asperger's almost 3 years ago and he has probably taught me more than I could ever teach him. Ok, so I teach him a lot, but still. Some days you'd never know he was anywhere close to the spectrum, other days you want to pull your hair out because he's having a melt down over a piece of dryer lint (not literally dryer lint, but usually something else that makes absolutely no sense to anyone else what so ever). Mostly though, he's pretty awesome and a little overly obsessed with Super Mario.

I swear like a trucker in case you haven't noticed. I did the whole try not to swear thing, it doesn't work well for me and I slip all the time. Luckily my kid isn't a repeater and usually just goes "Mooooom..." in an annoyed teenage-angsty sounding way like he's already mortified by everything I do.

So I guess that's an intro right? Well, it is now!

Day 2:

Meaning of your blog name

Um, that's pretty self explanatory. I'm so fucking fabulous I piss glitter.

Dear Blogosphere.......I'm Back!

Dear Blogosphere,

I am sorry I have basically dropped you like a bad habit. You see, things have been super crazy over the last year or so, and frankly I sort of shut that part of my brain off (I know I know; excuses excuses).

You see, I had sort of a bad run. Job instability seemed to rule my life there for a while. Working through temp agencies with the promise of hire only to have those rugs pulled out from underneath me. Because really, why would I have accepted a position with the promise of unemployment soon again after? Sneaky fuckers I know. They lure you in with the promise of benefits and income and then POOF! Here's your hat what's your hurry.

The old personal life wasn't exactly a picnic either. I could sit and rant about it today to you, but that is likely a story (or 50) for another day.

The point is, I missed you. You were an old reliable friend I could count on. You were the outlet and release I had to vent to after a bad day. The tried and true compadre who was there when I went off on a variety of tangents with little to no judgement (and if there was any, I had the distinct pleasure of clicking that elusive DELETE button and muttering "Fuck you" under my breath as your shitty little words evaporated back into cyberspace).

I let you down I know, and now I want you to know I am back. I'd like to say better than ever, but I've never been one to toot my own horn...(Toot Toot!!)

I'm not even sure if my ability to write is still alive inside me. Not sure if I can put to paper (metaphorically of course, since I am obviously typing) my thoughts and words the same way I once was able. Can I still turn a phrase? Can I still hear my voice in a plethora of characters typed on a computer screen? Who knows. Only time will tell.

Another reason for my sabbatical was an annoying as all hell feature I stupidly enacted within Google and then changed my phone number and was locked out of my account for quite some time. I mean really, who does that?! I get the whole extra security measure thing to avoid hacking, but then to not allow yourself access even when you try your supposed back up methods? Pissed me off. Finally after several irate emails and requests to the Powers that Be, I was once again granted access to my account and viola! Here I am.

So to my fellow writers, I applaud your dedication and your ability to keep up the good fight. I hope to join you once again, armed with a pen (you know what I mean...) and ready to get back into the battle of wits I once felt part of.

Until we meet again.....

Apryl

Don't get too close or you too will ruin your life!

I used to easily be able to articulate what I felt, thought, emoted. I could sit easly with a pen and paper, and then later in life with a keyboard and an internet connection. I could coin phrases and quip with the best of them. I could speak freely and with poetic license.

It was my outlet really. It was freeing and I was safe within the confines of my own mind, my own release of whatever I felt, good bad or indifferent. It was my thoughts, my feelings. I could spin them as I saw fit because I owned them. They were mine.

I haven't had writer's block persay. I haven't been uninspired or non-feeling. It's been none of that.

I've felt like a creative prisoner of sorts, too afraid of what my thoughts or feelings were going to evoke in other people. Afraid of the harsh criticisms that came along with me feeling one particular way or another. For my inate ability to seemingly overshare.

My life. My feelings. My ideas. Sqaundered beneath a need to make everyone else happy. To not ruffle feathers.

I have made so many mistakes in my life. I have done things I am not proud of. I have done things that have affected the lives of people I care about. And I will never not feel self-loathing about it. I will never not be haunted by actions I may have taken.

But I am learning. Life is a learning process. There is no manual for how to fix things. No step by step illustrated instruction booklet showing me which pieces go where to make things work smoothly. And what works for some doesn't work for others because each person is their own unique configuration of everything.

I used to be so jealous of a lot of my friends. Friends who finished college at the appropriate time. Who then went on for advanced degrees of sorts. Who got married and bought houses and had children, in that order.

I was a failure, the fuck up.

I started on the right track, immediately leaving for college right after high school. And I then transfered to another college with the intention of continuing on and on until I had whatever degrees I could get. And then I stopped.

I was working 2 jobs trying to keep my head afloat in my apartment. My roomate had moved out and I was there alone, at 20 trying to support myself and not go crawling back to my parents with my tail between my legs.

And then I got pregnant. I was now the single mom. The first of my friends to have a child.

I had horrible credit, I couldn't have been a homeowner if I tried. I had a car reposessed and I moved a couple of times to different apartments, and burned a lot of bridges with old landlords and bad debt.

I was a disaster of a person really. Poor judgement running rampant and just trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my life.

When my father died, nothing made sense any more. There was no more right in the world. And I feel into a deep dark hole.

There are so many regrets I have in my life. I know that people say you shouldn't have regrets and blah blah blah, but screw you I have them and plenty. I am not proud of my life.

I've been trying to remedy all of that. I am back in school, I have a decent job that isn't in retail (albeit after a horrible few years in worst economy ever and losing job after job), I have been in a relationship with the love of my life for almost 3 years, and I do not live in an aprtment. His name may be on the deed, but I still feel like a homeowner.

I am still a failure. All that I have tried to overcome, all that I have atempted to do to right whatever wrongs in my life I had committed is never enough. I live in the shadow of other people's expectations.

What I should have done, who I should have been. I have never claimed ot be perfect, or just or good. But being told I'm a bad person makes me feel even more inferior. Makes me want to break down.

When I'm hurt and upset, I of course lash out because anger looks tougher than fear and vulnerability. I say things I don't mean, I hurt the ones I love even more. It's a ridiculous thing really, it's defensive. 90% of the time I long to grab the words that fly out of my mouth before they ever hit the ears of the intended. I want to scoop them out of the air and swallow them back down.

The thoughts that stream through my head are so chaotic. So full of fear and worry. That I will never be enough. That maybe my life isn't worth living. That I'm a horrible person, that I'm a shitty mother. A bad friend.

I don't really feel as though I have friends anymore. No one I can confide in or talk to without judgement. I thought I used to have that. I was wrong. I was always being judged. I was the Fuck Up. Disaster. Trainwreck. Drama Queen.

Best to stay away as I was clearly contagious to them. Don't get too close or you too will ruin your life!

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make my life make sense. How to make things ok. That's all I want. All I've ever wanted. To be happy. To spend my life with my bestfriend and love living happily ever after. I really can't do anything right.

All I can say is I'm sorry.

Sorry I ever hurt you.

Sorry for my life.

Dear 2011...

Dear 2011,

With you only an hour away from ending, I have a few choice words for you.

See you the fuck later.

2011 was a year that brought a lot of changes to my life, and not all for the better. There were losses a plenty, and sure a few gains, (very few)  but overall I am glad to see this year off and hopefully bring in 2012 with nothing but the promise of a better year.

I lost something irreplaceable. Something that still holds a void in my heart every day. Sometimes even the most minute things cause painful and heartfelt reminders of what could have been, and it's something I have to carry with me forever.  And I hate myself for that.

I lost my relationship, only to gain in back and struggle every day to get things back to the once blissful days we knew. To get back the joy the love and the laughter we filled every day with. There have been days that have been amazingly love filled, and others where I feel like the world is ending. I just want it all back the way it was, perfect in our own dysfunctional way.

I moved in with my Love during a tumultous time. A time of huge transition. A compound change.  A change that made sense but still, any change is tough.

I lost not 1 but 2 jobs and spent a better part of the year feeling useless and like less of a person because of it.  Not able to provide, or to help support the ones I love.

I ruined the credit I had just started to rebuild.  Joblessness ruined a lot of things.

I lost my grandfather, the only one I ever really knew, regardless of the blood running through our veins. And I am greatful for his almost 93 years on this Earth, and amazed he was lucid and active up until a month before he passed, but even knowing he was nearing a century in age, his death was hard.

Although, being able to be at his bedside, to sing to him, to share stories and memories with him in his final hours, to give him permission to let go made it a little easier. I wish I had been able to have any sort of closure with the death of my father, maybe then his being gone wouldnt plague me so much every day.

I realized things about myself this past year. Not great things. Things I should have realized and changed long ago, and perhaps things that have hindered my life and left me in a sort of limbo these 32 years.

I have been through emotional hell this year. More so I think than any other year I can recall. Not all bad mind you, but a rollercoaster of every possible thing a person can feel. Up and down and twisted and writhing.

Now as we near the close of this year, all I want is to move forward.  To keep those in my life I chose to keep when I weeded out all those that were toxic.

To cut the chains of the past and move forward, free of past wrongs and thinking  positive. I want to take the losses I have had, the revelations about myself and I want to use them to make like better for not only myself but for all those I love in 2012.

I resolve to finish my degree, and within the first few weeks of 2012 do I start school in an effort to do so. And I am grateful for my Love for encouraging and pushing me to register.

I resolve to keep my job, a job I just got with a few weeks left in 2011 and to turn it into a career that I not only love but that I can be proud of. And so far I love love love it.

I resolve to be more patient, to try and think more before I speak. (I say this year after year and I still mean it)

To be a better mother, a better girlfriend, a better daughter, friend and colleague. To just be a better person.

I resolve to try to be as positive as humanly possible and try to not let the demons of my past haunt me any longed.

I choose to let go of everything I can't change or control anymore.  To steer my life in the direction I know in my heart it was meant to go.

I resolve to spend my life with the Love of mine.  Hopeful for that happy-ever-after that doesn't come in fairytales, but more like the ones in soap operas, after a shitload of adversity and strife, and coming out stronger and more in love than ever.

When you have hit the bottom, they say a there is no place to go but up right?

2012, I hope that's the case, I can't take any more of this shit.

(Oh and getting skinny and hot is on the list too.....you know, for good measure.)

Love,
Me

The Great and Powerful Oz

I thought I used to know who I was. Sure it was probably heavily coated in denial and completely made up of false bravado, but no one would have been the wiser.

It was all smoke and mirrors. A facade I created to hide how loathsome I felt towards myself. How defeated I was on the inside. Just eager for people to like me, maybe even love me.

I buried those feelings. I hid so much from myself that who I often pretended to be seemed to overtake me. But it was still there, deep inside driving my every move like the Great and Powerful Oz. Seemingly larger than life, but really just a meek persona hiding behind a curtain.

Once I came to terms with myself, shed that outer shell like a snake does its skin, I realized I had forgotten who I used to be. I was so deep inside myself that I didn't recognize me. I was lost.

I became so exposed, so vulnerable. Like a burn victim in the sun, I seethe trying to figure out what is supposed to be now. My new found raw emotion festering and blistering about me.

I feel somewhat worthless. Unlovable. That no matter how hard I try to free myself from those demons who possessed me for so long, that nothing I do will ever be seen as right. As good enough.

I never longed for what most little girls did. I didn't see my future with husband or children or domestic duties. I never looked that far. I skipped over the "living" part of life and only saw what I hoped. I saw my remembrance posthumously. I saw myself writing.

Even there I have failed. I started to blog to share what I thought was the only gift I had. The only voice and outlet I could control. I have fallen by the wayside. In every facet of my life.

I don't know how I became so broken. So horribly misguided. More alone than I have ever felt in a time I should feel completely fulfilled.

Even though I got what I never knew I always wanted, I feel broken....and scared that no matter how much love I have to give, no matter how much effort I put forth, it will never be enough.

That I will inevitably lose it all.

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"They"

They say love is unconditional. They say the past is the past. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

They say a lot of things. Who are "They", anyway?

Have "They" walked a mile in your shoes? As far as I'm concerned, "They" can go fuck themselves.

You can pepper your life with cliches, you can quote every idiom you have ever heard, and yet they can still haunt you. The words, thoughts and impressions of others. Those uneducated assholes who think they know it all and are better than everyone else.

These words of supposed wisdom, being older than Methuselah, they linger. They permeate the mindset of so many. Yet are vastly misused and misinterpreted.

How valid are they really? How relatable to reality can they actually be?

The past supposedly shapes who you are today; good, bad or indifferent. You can either learn from past mistakes and grow and move forward, or you can fall into a black hole and never dig yourself out of it.

Sometimes it takes an outsiders perspective to show you that things need to change, but accepting and fulfilling that change is what should matter.

No one is perfect. No one has a life without regret. You can't learn and move forward if you don't fuck up. You can't know good if you've never experienced bad. You can't change if you don't realize a problem.

That should be the true measure of character. The true measure of who you are, who you aspire to be. Who you work tirelessly everyday to become. Not because someone else thinks you should, but because that's what YOU want. (And fuck you for thinking otherwise)

You shouldn't be haunted by the ghosts of your past if all you are trying to do is exorcise the demons and move the fuck on. No one, no matter how much they mean to you should be allowed to make you feel bad for your mistakes. They are
YOUR mistakes. And I am sure they have their own.

Those who point their fingers have 3 more pointing back at themselves. Casting stones from within their glass houses. Glass shattering at their feet, yet still laying blame on everyone else but themselves for their shortcomings.

Its not the road you took that defines you, its what you choose to do when you get to that fork in the road. Do you choose to go back and relive and remake those same mistakes? Do you choose another path, one free of those former obstacles that kept you from the happiness and love you know you deserve?

You kept yourself locked away emotionally for so long, living icily and detached for so long. Allowing things that were not ok for so long because at the time you knew no other way. Because no one had seemingly cared enough to show you there was another way.

You got enlightened. You came to terms with your discretion's. You saw the road you were on wasn't a good one. It was self destructive. And you drastically changed directions.

But its not what you've been doing that seems to matter. Its not the steps you've made to better yourself and the lives of the people you affect daily. No. That's apparently not important.

Every mistake you've ever made, every bad decision, no matter the reason, is tossed in your face like a Slushie on Glee. Doesn't seem to matter if they knew you then, if they weren't a part of your life when things happened. All that matters to them suddenly is their twisted perspective. Their judgemental view on your life prior to them even being a part of it.

They selfishly make your life about them. Well news flash. It wasn't about YOU. It was my life, my mistakes. If I fucked up, that was on me. If I made bad decisions I am fully capable of regretting them on my own. I don't need your help. Your judgement. Your ability to make it all about you.

You should be praising that I acknowledge my mistakes. That I choose to learn and grow from them. That I would die before I ever let myself repeat any of them. That all I want is a better life, for me, for my son, and for those I love.

The present is what I can control, the future. I cannot do anything to change what has already happened, all I can do is not allow any of the mistakes from my past be repeated. To grow up and move the fuck on.

And you may be stuck, digging into things that have nothing to do with you. And you may be miserable focusing on things that I can't do anything about now. But I'm not.

My goal is set. My goal is the now. My goal is the future. And if you can't get over your damn self and you unnecessarily bruised ego, (which again, boggles my mind) than fuck you. And the supposedly white horse you rode in on.

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A Full Head of Hair and a Smile on My Face

Wow, I have never gone a month with out writing, but it's been a hell of a month.

The last day I blogged, I got laid off (again I know), bought a new car (after the accident and the whole insurance rigmarole) and we decided to have me and Dyl move in with my boyfriend and his kids.

Whole lot a changin' going on.

It's been a transition but a happy one. Lots of packing and throwing the majority of my apartment collectives away. No more mismatched hodgepodge furniture I collected as hand-me-downs from various relatives or yard sales.

I mean, the man bought me a new couch (beautiful sectional we special ordered, la-ti-da!), a new fridge (his may have been one of the first ever created. Light less and full of mystery things I'm sure in the vast dark corners it harbored), AND a new mattress set.

We are starting anew, moving forward together and things that more represent us together than as individuals. He in his testosterone palace (and I say this not because of nudey pictures of Budweiser signs all over his house because thankfully he was never that tasteless, but because it was he and his 2 boys for so many years) and me and Dylan in my picture and clutter laden existence.

I figure I held on to so many possessions because that was all I COULD hang on to. People came and went, jobs hired and fired. I moved a few times. All I had that was constant were what I could tangibly hold. Pictures to remind me of those gone by, of times gone by.

I was like an episode of Hoarders (as my Love and any friends or family have pointed out who have graciously helped me sort through my lunacy). Not trash per say or things that would set off flags to the Board of Health or anything, but stuff that I clearly didn't need or even know why I held on to.

Mail from 6 years ago? Yeah I have no idea why I never invested in a paper shredder because some of the crap I held on to made little to no sense. Old cell phones from 5 carriers ago that are now so obsolete they may belong in a technological museum.

But, I have been on a purge of that stuff. On a lot of other things. Cleaning out the clutter from my apartment also made me want to clean out the clutter of the rest of my life. People I don't need to talk to, a part of my past I would rather not remember. Moving up and moving on. And more importantly moving forward.

It's been nice that it's all happened while unemployed. I mean don't get me wrong, having no income sucks big time, but the time has been phenomenal. I have gotten to spend time with all 3 kids. I have gotten to hone my Suzy Homemaker skills.

I have had a few interviews, one that really wanted me but it just made no sense to take. Would be a 3 1/2 hour daily round trip commute on the subway, plus driving. So I would have ot pay for the train monthly plus parking daily AND then try to pay someone for before AND after school care for 3 kids. Having me get home not long before bed and then starting over again the next day. Yeah no thanks.

So I have had a couple other interviews with staffing firms that place outside and thankfully South of the city. I know the pay isn't as great, but if I can get it within a couple dollars at least and not have a horrible commute, it may all be worth it. Especially have combined incomes.

We have dreams, we have plans. We have a basic and fairly simple road map to our financial future. It's not Rocket Science (at least it doesn't seem that way now) and then we won't have to know struggle. I can't think of a time in my independent adult life I haven't known what its like to get a shut off notice, or to have to rely on some sort of government assistance.

Having a man in my life who is a hard worker and knows what the hell he is doing with his life is so unbelievably amazing. It's almost like a fictional character. I mean we've had our problems sure, but we have come back in such a strong way. In a better way, wanting to bring out the best in each other. Wanting nothing more than to make each other happy for the rest of our lives. Yup, I said it.

Case in point. After cooking dinner the other night, I was cleaning up and attempting to put the leftovers away. There is no Tupperware in this house. (Granted, that is because normally he would go to work and leave the containers behind, never to be seen or heard from again, but that's neither here nor there at this point) Exasperated about having to use zip-lock bags for things to put away, I sort of made a comment about needing Tupperware.

So a little time goes by after dinner, and my Love decides to inform me he is going to Target and asked if I needed a coffee. Do fish shit?! Of course I need coffee.

An hour or so goes by and in strolls my Fella, tossing a bag with a large box inside at me. Inside was a 32 piece set of various Tupperware (well Rubbermaid but who's counting?) containers and a second box with larger ones. I have never been happier to see food storage in my life.

Freaking adorable right?

The kids are transitioning well too. Dylan has his own room, with a brand new bed also courtesy of my Love. It's been like a modern Brady Bunch with way less kids, and obviously no daughters. Ok so it's actually nothing like the Brady Bunch at all. Shut it.

But it's my life and I am unbelievably happy. Even jobless right now I am happy. I get to fall asleep every night in the arms of a man I love more than anything. I get to wake up and see the faces of 3 kids who I love and who are acting more and more like brothers every day. Kids who have known each other since the youngest was 2 1/2. Now almost 7, 7 and 11.

I cook and clean all day and live in the laundry room, and am oddly loving every minute of it. Don't get me wrong though the day I get a job I will be freaking jumping for joy to get out of the damn house every day, but I'm ok for now. I'm not upset about sleeping in and enjoying the days with the kids, and days off with my Love on a random Tuesday.

At least while it's summer. Check back in a month, I may be bald by then from pulling my hair out. But right now, I have a full head of hair and a smile on my face.