Some say that if you simply start writing the inspiration will come to you. I love to write. I can sit down and write without giving it much thought. The college papers that others spent days upon days on, I could whip out easily in two – one day for writing and the second day for letting it sit a bit for better editing. Of course substantial papers such as twenty pages took longer, but the general papers were no big deal. So yeah, I can start writing and something will come, but it may not be of interest, let alone inspirational.
I used to write creatively. I think I’ve mentioned that before. That’s kind of died, but that is where I’d like to go again. Blogs are so much about life and I’ve used my blog as a sounding board for issues in my life. I could certainly continue to do that. God knows I’ve got issues. I’m the single mother of two kids which I have raised completely on my own. My son’s father, yes they have separate fathers, takes the cake on dead beat fathers. The thing is, I don’t know that I want to keep writing about my life so my blog has been simmering while I decide what I’m doing. Actually, my blog hasn’t even been on my mind, to be honest.
Most of you don’t know me and I’ve kept my blog a secret on purpose. I am actually a fairly private person and I write about things that I typically don’t talk about. I’m a professional and I think I do pretty well in carrying that persona around. “Fake it ’til you make it” is my personal mantra, so people tend to think I’m doing well even when I’m falling apart inside and I prefer to keep it that way.
So I need to seriously contemplate what direction I’m taking. Do I keep writing about life and whatever I happen to feel like writing about or should I find a direction? I just don’t know. What do you think, that is, if I even have any readers left? Any words of wisdom for me? Do we have too many blogs about life on here or do you like to read about what others are going through? I just don’t know. Maybe I should start with my revelations of the type of men that I always fall for even when I know they are bad for me.
“My dog is a shitzu and she really is a shit, but I love her to death.”
I can’t think of a time when my dog hasn’t wanted to be with me. Unlike the shitzu, my dog is a hundred pound mutt somewhere between a rottweiller and a labrador. When she hears me pull into the drive way, she yowls loudly. She also does this when I pick her up from the dog groomer. There is no doubt that my dog loves me. This is apparent to all. She doesn’t ask much of me; food, water, an ear or belly scratch here and there, some simple conversation affirming just how much I love her, a bath, and a brush.
Sure, there have been times when I have not been happy with her. For instance, there was the time when I left my brand new ski jacket out and for whatever reason, she felt that it was wise to chew holes in the pockets. She loves to eat crayons, so those must be kept up. Her drama is pretty minor and definitely bearable. The few times that she has had accidents in the house have truly been my fault for leaving her too long. She has never caused significant damage, never nipped or bit anyone. She is a very good dog in all actuality.
If men really were dogs, I am confident that women would be happier. We would always know that he is completely “into us”, that he would do anything for us, and that we really do mean the world to him. Why is it so hard to find a dog of a man?
Ultimately, isn’t this what we are all looking for? That incredible relationship where we are so in love that we can not imagine our lives without that special someone? I know I am looking for it, but the difference is that I have once felt this in love. Like many, my love ended in a divorce. We were married young – 18 and 19 years old. We had been married for four years and had a baby. Something was going on with him and I can only guess as to what, but the reality is that one day, I came home to discover his things packed and he was standing before me zipping up his coat. This was goodbye to the life that I knew.
That happened fifteen years ago. Given the time, many would assume that I am bitter, but I am not. In fact, he and I are now very good friends. Although we don’t see each other often, we give genuine hugs when we do and inquire about each other and each other’s families. We have a child together and will forever be a part of each other’s lives.
During the past fifteen years, I have focussed on me. I have gone back to school and received my bachelor’s degree, I returned again and received my master’s degree, I have a career, I have purchased my first home, I have made two major moves, and most importantly, I have discovered who I am. I have my own hopes and dreams these days and I am perfectly content in being me. This is a lesson that I wish I could share with all women.
I was raised that women should be at home raising their children and supporting their husbands. Within that belief system, I put my life on hold so that I could take care of my husband and support him in his dreams – all while burying my own. I thought I was nothing without a man. Oh how wrong I was.
I am not a feminist or an advocate for being single, I just know that I am not willing to settle. I want the man that is best for me, or no man at all. Many people search for that special someone that will complete them. I am already a complete person. I am looking for that special man that will compliment me, and I will compliment him. I hope to find him one of these days, but if not, I will enjoy this life of mine. Being single does not mean being lonely. I do not understand why so many people think that way. Perhaps they are simply afraid to discover who they really are.
There are many signs that stamp one’s daughter as a young woman – the first bra, the first date, the first boyfriend, makeup, shaving her legs. The list is endless, but perhaps the most significant is when she is on the pill. This is a hard time for the parents in so many ways.
I have never been a parent that is afraid or hesitant to talk to my children about anything. We have very open dialogues about vast subjects. Sex and drugs have always been two primary topics. I am still old fashioned in my beliefs about sex. I do not believe that teens should be having sex. I don’t feel that they are emotionally ready for this endeavor. Many teens enter sex for one of two reasons: their hormones are raging and they lose control, or they are looking for love and hoping to find it through sex.
Our sex conversations have always been on the lines of, “You know I don’t want you having sex (various reasons given), but inevitably, the choice is yours. You will find yourself in a situation where you will make the choice. Before you get there, it is far more important to me that you are protected so come to me and we will get you on the pill.” Of course, there’s also the talk of needing to use condoms to prevent STDs, but being on the pill has been a huge one. If and when she becomes sexually active, I want her taken care of. A teen pregnancy will end her dreams.
My daughter has not decided to become sexually active at this point. For this, I am thankful. However, her hormones are simply out of control during her menstrual cycle. During her most recent flare up, she was sure that I absolutely hate her and brought me a large knife while suggesting that since I hate her so much, I should just kill her now. Yikes. These actions have made it apparent that it is time to put her on the pill.
This scares me. She has a boyfriend and I hope that this won’t be the key that tells them that it is ok to have sex. She has shared with me that they have talked about sex and both want to wait, but the day will come when the decision will be made. I guess it is a good thing that she is on the pill, but it is very hard to watch my daughter become such a young woman.
During my last doctor’s visit, I was asking my doctor about birth control options. During the past year and a half, I developed severed health complications which result in me never being able to take hormones. Birth control pills work because of the hormones that are in them. Basically, besides the condom and the sponge, my only two options are an IUD or tubal ligation. All of that aside, during the visit and the conversation, I became aware that I will have to endure menopause without the aide of any medication. OMG!
Sure, menopause is another ten years out for me, perhaps more given family history, but have you ever been around a woman going through menopause? Did I mention, OMG!?!?! LOL Luckily for my children, they will be gone by then. My son may still be around, but he’ll be 18 so he will at least have the option of moving away from me. Unless I happen to remarry, that will leave just me. Just me to battle my mood swings and hot flashes.
I know I’m too young to worry about it, but really, menopause without hormones? OMG!!
I used to know this girl. She was beautiful; dark, dark hair, deep brown eyes, olive colored skin. I was jealous of her beauty until one day I happened to notice stubbly black hair growing on her chin. This surprised me. During the next few days, I watched that beard continue to grow just a little bit more with each day. I’m sure that she was letting it grow just long enough until she could get it waxed, but I began to understand her insecurities on a whole new level.
While most women tend to have their eyebrows and even their upper lip and perhaps their chin waxed, it is not common for women to actually have a full beard. However, upon doing a handy dandy google search, I did discover that it is far more common than I had realized.
For instance, I’m sure you will recognize our first unshaven woman:
Now you’ve got to admit, that’s some funny stuff! In all seriousness, though, being a woman with facial hair is not. Upon my google search I discovered some women who choose to wear their beards. I find this fascinating. Perhaps because it is something that I would not do. Like most women, I have some facial hair here and there that I have waxed. During those in between times, while it is growing in and not quite ready to be waxed, I become very self conscience. I can not imagine what it would be like to actually battle a full beard. I am impressed by these women that are strong enough to let their beards grow. I could never do it.
***WARNING – This is not a well written piece. The title should have been your first clue.
I am a firm believer in fate. I believe that if things are meant to be, they will be. I am at a point in my life in which I am waiting to see what fate is offering me. I am puzzled by it, enthused by it, excited by it. I am also terrible at waiting.
About two years ago, someone walked into my life as an acquaintance. I have never had the opportunity to get to know him due to circumstances. We had a professional relationship that really would have been awkward to breech. That relationship has since ended and circumstances put him into my life on a personal level. After having a secret crush on him for two years, we are now in the very beginning stages of dating. I hate this stage. The waiting, the not knowing, the wondering.
I have found that dating at this stage in my life is a completely different game. Well, of course it is since I was first married at 18. In adult dating, we seem to cut to the chase quicker, even breaking the “rules” of dating in many cases. We establish whether or not we want children, if we have any plans to move or are in the area for the long haul, and religious beliefs early on. We look at our list of things that are unacceptable and if the man or woman meets any of those criteria, we are quick to cross them off and move on. We have a firmer grip of who we are and what we are looking for in a relationship.
Some couples play the field more and date several people. I haven’t found this to be true for myself nor for the men that I have dated. I know at least one continued to play the field while we were together, and that was fine. I knew we weren’t in it for the long haul and it was fun while it lasted. One man told me that one woman is enough and he can’t handle trying to balance/date more than one woman at a time. I think that statement sums it up for most of us that are looking for that lasting relationship.
I find myself questioning things, not sure what to do. My gut tells me that I should do something, and I seem to have to ask someone else for their opinion just to confirm my thoughts. The reality is that I have waited for two years to get to know this man, never expecting to. We are clicking on all levels so far and I am wondering if possibly, just possibly, this could be fate…or is it just a woman looking and hoping to be in a relationship?
I look at elderly people and I see their white hair, their bent backs, their limps, some of which are slight, others more distinguished. Often you can see the pain on their faces. They have lived full lives of which we can only imagine their stories.
Some people look at the elderly and feel a deep sense of compassion, perhaps even mustering up stories which the said person may or may not have lived. When I see the elderly, all I can think is, “I don’t want to live to be that old.”
I think this is sad and I feel guilty about it, yet it does not change. My great grandmother was 106 when she died. I remember her. I remember the special toilet that was assembled for her use. I remember that she could no longer see to do her precious embroidery. She could not boil water or even peel an orange. She couldn’t even make it to the restroom without assistance. I don’t want to be like this.
I had a very brief period in my life in which I was humbled enough to the extent that I was completely reliant on others. Like my great grandmother, I needed help just to make it into the restroom and to get on and off of the toilet. I could not bathe myself. Although I used a walker, I could not even manage it without assistance. I could not dress myself. If it involved my legs in any manner, no matter how slight, I was not able to do it. I was a self-sufficient, 36 year old single mother who lived in a town with some friends and absolutely no family. As was usual for my personality, when I realized that something was terribly wrong, rather than calling an ambulance as I should have, I drove myself to the hospital – the whole time trying to reach someone at work to let them know that I would not be in.
For three weeks, my parents moved in with me. They left their home, their friends, their jobs, to come and take care of my children and I. Once I was well enough that I could at least shower on my own (with the use of handicap contraptions), my mother returned to her job. My father stayed with me another three weeks and would have stayed longer, but I finally kicked him out.
I had to buy all new makeup for my new medicines caused problems with the old makeup. I had to buy a new car because I could no longer get in and out of my SUV. I had to buy new clothes to accommodate my ever swollen leg and the weight gain that would follow. It’s been over a year and I’m still in the recovery stages. I have permanent damage and will likely struggle for the rest of my life, but I can at least fool those who don’t know me into thinking all is well. In fact, I believe that most of my friends forget that there is anything wrong with me.
I take this relatively short period of time and remember with dread what it was like to rely fully on others and I am reminded again and again that I don’t want to live like that. My circumstances were temporary, but an elderly person only continues to get worse. I want to die while I’m still actually living. Is that really so horrible?
We hadn’t even left yet when my mom handed me a print off of the map that we would be using to find the fabric store. It was from Mapquest.
Mom, this map is useless. It doesn’t show how to get to the street that we need.
That’s ok. I have been there before. I know how to get there.
Are you sure, Mom? We could take my car and I can use my GPS system.
No, we’ll be fine. Besides, this will be fun.
It was fun, for about the first hour of what should have been a 30 minute drive. It was fun, until I began to realize that not only did my mom have no idea where she was going, but that I, even though I was from out of town and did not know the area, I had a better sense of direction than she did, although she would not listen to me. It was fun, until she wanted to ask some gangster how to find the fabric shop. Ok, that in and of itself was hilarious, but trying to find a fabric store for 2 hours instead of the 30 minutes that it should have taken? Yeah, not so fun.
My children and I went to visit the family. We had a family BBQ so that “everyone (could) see (me)”.
Both of my grandmothers were there. They are approaching 90. My parents were there. They are well into their 60s. One set of aunt/uncle were there whom I am guessing are in their 50s. My brother who is very loud and we have nothing in common was also there with his 3 children who are considerably younger than my 2.
It turns out that my parents told my grandma not to invite a lot of family because I don’t want all of the noise. So instead, they recommended that grandma invite my aunt/uncle that I haven’t seen in about 20 years. However, my parents have since become re-aquatinted with them. Who was that BBQ for?
I later told my mom that I feel out of place at those gatherings. Her response?
C, you need to just jump in and join the conversation.
My mom and aunt were talking about sewing machines and quilting. I don’t sew.
My brother and uncle were talking about Spike TV. I don’t have television.
My grandmas were talking about some old cat named Jake and bad drivers. Although I don’t know anything about Jake, I do know about bad drivers and my one grandma who is going blind qualifies as a bad driver, yet she doesn’t think so and continues to drive. Probably not a good idea to insert my opinion on that topic.
So Mom, which conversation should I just jump into?
