I don't want to hear about your plans for next year

I hate weddings. Oh, marriage is fine, with two good people. It's weddings, the more extravagant the worse, a nightmare.

We will never attend another, we've promised.

Like a stuck pig

Ok, one night woken by bleeding through - normal. Two nights? The second it happens twice?

Shit, menopause please come.

Not blood of your blood

Your God was never my god. Your Husband was never my father. Your thoughts were never my thoughts.

Not your clone, but a changeling.

Ralph Lauren Paint? Really? Douchebags.

House, we are sorry about the humans who used to own you. We will always use good, solid paint for you, and never showy "Ralph Loren" paint just for the style. We will take care of plumbing and electricity and vermin and foundations before silly cosmetics. We will love you for the grand old girl you are, and never fill you with silly Ikea shit. I'll take care of your gardens and yard, and not let the trees threaten your roof. No more fires in your fireplace, but at least you won't fill with smoke and ashes again. And no more undermining your foundations with a hack fix for a laundry drain.

We love you, dear house. Be patient with us, we will keep attentive and work on your problems every month of every year. We love you, as does your household god - Moby.

We'll paint that back room next week.

Throwing forgiveness

I believe in forgiveness, it relieves me of the sins of others. But if they want to be forgiven, the transaction completed, they have to confess, accept responsibility and at least try to atone. I can throw forgiveness on them all day long, but if they keep dodging it, there ain't nothing for me to do more, let it rot on the ground - at least it's not my problem anymore.

No damn priest can help with that.

Childless by intention.

Something




about this I find deeply frightening. But, then, I know the inevitable will overwhelm me. At least I know I have not given into instinct, in the face of familial and genetic malignance.

I'll take honorable loneliness.

Everything is a damn trade-off

When Gut is unhappy, ain't nobody happy. Symptom of hormone elevation. Within a week, the period starts.

Well, hormones protect bones and arteries, must endure.

Waking up

Listening to the women at work talk about toddlers they know, whose mothers let them wear whatever outlandish thing they want, because well why not. And I think, yes, why not, why did my mother take it all so damn seriously - how what I wore reflected on her and not just on my age and personal eccentricity? And my long held imaginary relationship fades several more shades, and I let go of a bit more I didn't even realize I was holding on to.

Like letting go of imaginary friends, now that I have real ones.

The joy of ten to twelves

Long shifts are long. Long shifts hurt. Can't complain because the rest of the month looks slim.

Still, ow.