today

hi people!
am taking a short sabbatical.
will return soon or when my fans beckon, haha!
much love.
z

moon day

my kids ask, “mom did you ever try drugs?” 
and i don’t know what I am supposed to say.



when I was in college, taking 21 units and not knowing what i wanted to be when i grew up, i took acid one night. reason? i don't know. the moon was full. 
we didn’t call it taking drugs. we were just young people seeking a spiritual experience. so my inspiration from that experience was, quit school and go to hawaii-i went to a place i had heard about called taylor camp. this was the story that was told to me- elizabeth taylor’s brother owned this amazing piece of land on the north shore of kauai. the government wouldn’t let him develop it, so in a kind of...you know! to the government, he gave it to a bunch of hippies who took it over. it wasn't a commune. everyone was pretty much self- sufficient. there was an amazing little store there, which had mangoes and avocados for sale and there were gardens everywhere and outdoor showers. everyone who lived there changed their name. there was hawk and feather, bobo and star and i was rainbow. 
the people who lived there designed and built these amazingly, beautiful bamboo homes on stilts. to acquire one, an owner simply passed it on when they moved on. that's how i got my tree house!

money daze

strategy 1. 

i can not tell a lie.  was it simply luck that made me figure out i could do something to guarantee i would be in the running for the grand prize? 

and, no- this is not a confession. this was strategy! 

i clearly saw that those top 100 ladies had some trick up their respective baggy sleeves, cellulite arms not withstanding! i decided to get on board. i simply voted for myself 30 times/day-

it was, as they say, a numbers game.

now i too am in the top 150.

big $$$ prize.

wish me luck.

strategy 2.

i am publishing my children's book and and will put it online to sell.

yes. it is amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

strategy 3.

don't have that one yet. working on it.

the day the money starts rolling in!

ha!
you think i had forgotten??? never. this is not all about him. or having a him. or even singing a hymn. (though that is always inspirational).
no. 
this is about making money and not having money make me- crazy.
do you all realize how dependent/despondent i am, have been, as regards that ol' dollar?
do you remember the financial expert who was sorry i was so "tortured" by my money story?
well- it felt good to be acknowledged- i guess.
but i am currently most interested in turning this thing around, rather than staying in any of those rather cramped, tortured spaces.
so.
instead of continuing along the lines of frugalness, doing without, lean and bare, etc.
how about i turn it around and start making loads of money!
i'll show them!
all those bad ol' mortgage people who won't refinance me because i don't make enough money to qualify for a refinance which would reduce my loan payments $500.00 per month-which would make me qualify for a refinance! but, i don't qualify- now. without the refinance. and i cannot for the life of me get them to calculate it as if i were paying the $500.00 less per month which would qualify me... i mean, are you getting this?
so i gotta change my strategy.
making money. not spending less money. 
now i might be getting somewhere.

sadder day

well. i have not been writing.
i considered stopping.
and of course, there was.
saturday.
i was sad. i was remembering. things. memories. 
i wonder - will i ever be in love again?
i have not seen or spoken to him in over three months. 90 days. they say that is the magic number of relapse. when the neuro transmitters start sending messages, hinting- perhaps i did not make a good choice. perhaps i made a mistake. perhaps i was quite wrong.
then i remember. i need to make myself remember.
the facts. 
i had a dream about him. i saw him in the dream. he looked good! 
but there were two of him. the one i loved came and sat with me. he reached out to me with an embrace. his twin brother got in the front seat and was running the show, giving directions, paying  no attention to me. 
that is the way it was.
the one that loved me, that was kind and thoughtful 
and the evil twin brother that was thoughtless and oblivious to everyone but himself. 

happy day

he's too happy. that guy i had a crush on. how can anyone be that happy??? i don't get it. is it for real? does this really happen? are people genuinely that happy 24/7? personally, i have never met anyone that is. well. now i guess have. if i count him. i haven't actually met him. i saw him. at that movie screening. and if he really is, is what i am questioning, really that happy i mean? the reason he seems insufferably happy is that every two minutes he says on his website that he is.

sigh.

such a thing i have never known.

when i was just 21, i met an incredibly handsome man who told me he loved me. we moved in together in a tiny garden apartment in san francisco. he was probably one of the most beautiful men in the world. his smile would light up the sky. i worked at a very popular café in fisherman’s wharf. every night I would take a cab home after work. at the end of a shift we all had a drink. when I went to get mine i heard this voice saying: “don’t drink that.” i hesitated. i could hear it clearly, but i also was perturbed. i wanted to drink it. as i reached over to pick it up again, this voice clearly said, “don’t drink that.” i went to finish the last few things i needed to do, and kind of angrily came back and had a sip or two, but then i threw it out. it was not understandable what i had heard, but it was jarring enough to make me stop. when I got home it was after 3:00 in the morning. my handsome guy had left a note on the bed saying he had to go to pick up some things in tahoe with his friend and left the keys to his truck for me in case I needed it. he said he would be back the next day. i remember thinking to myself- i had never stayed home alone. i was a little nervous, but took a deep breath and took off my uniform to wash in the sink. that's when I heard the sound. i didn’t know what it was. without thinking, i opened the door to look outside. the night was very dark, but over the fence i saw a man with the most terrifying expression on his face and he was climbing the wall! the sounds he was making were like out of the exorcist. i went into a panic and started to run, but it was so dark and in my panic i lost my sense of direction. we lived down a small alley and i ran straight into a wall- i heard him behind me. i thought, this is it, i am going to be raped and i am going to be murdered. somehow, i made it around the corner and into the street. every door on that block had a steel iron gate on it. there was nowhere to go for help. just at that exact moment, a taxi turned down the street. i flagged him down and jumped in the car. i was completely naked. i asked him to give me his jacket and call the police.

it turned out that armed police had been staked in the neighborhood. they were looking for a serial rapist. he wasn’t caught. the next day, there was a note on our truck saying, “i'm still watching.”

if I had been drinking, there is no doubt in my mind i would not have been able to react as quickly as i had, or may even have just passed out in bed and been victimized. who was that voice? how had I heard it? more important, why did I pay attention that time?  

the rs day

remember the guy who dumped me when he had someone else in back-up position? the guy that broke my heart? a few weeks after his mini-exploration with miss “oh- i guess there really is nothing new under the sun," he started trying to court me again!

at first, my entire being was just a bucket of rage. every encounter with him pretty much consisted of me throwing at him a litany of every expletive I knew. and i did seem to have a rather unlimited supply. of expletives. and anger. unfortunately for me, he was unbelievably persistent and painstakingly patient during his first attempt at re-entry. 

fact. the trust had not only been broken, it had been decimated. 

fallacy. he told me over and over how sorry he was he had hurt me. he said he would do anything to win me back. anything.  


fallacy. i did not think there were enough “i am sorry’s” in the world, to make me change my mind.

fact. I am sure most of you at this stage of the game would definitely advise one to just cut your losses. there is that theory, once a cheater, always a cheater. i knew this. but.


fact. oh! i wanted to believe in love.  

fact. i decided, after months of his pleading, to act from the premise there was hope; that there was a possibility we could mend the ties that bind; you know. come out stronger, more in love and more shining.

fact. i convinced myself it sounded good.

fact. dumb.

wed day

sex. and. money.


i noticed that while my girlfriends will sometimes tell me more than i want to know about their sex lives i decided to try an experiment after another riveting round of "which position have you done it in?"
at a recent dinner party with my gal pals i leaned in conspiratorially and without missing a beat i asked everyone at the table- "so-how much money do you and/or your partner make in a year?"


shock.
dead silence.
wild eyed stares.


taboo?


sex. yes.
money. no.
the things we are comfortable with sharing.

mother's day

i have not seen my mother in seven years. last year, it occurred to me that maybe i should visit her before she dies. so i told her i would come this past january. 
when it was time, with all my fear and trepidation neatly packed, she cancelled on me and said she wasn’t feeling well. 
i never rescheduled.

i was 27 years old when I went to my first al-anon meeting. when i was a child there were no child protective services, everything was a secret, people whispered and nodded but no one ever came out and spoke the truth. it took me a long time to find al-anon. i must have been in a lot of pain. this was where i was told, for the first time in my life, that it was not my fault my mother drank. i never went to another meeting. that was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. all the years I had been “responsible” for my mother, for her wellbeing, her very life, instantaneously vanished and I was finally able to let go.

she married a man who managed a very expensive detox center in, you won't believe it, the wine country. they had brought her in on a gurney, from one of her recent binge’s and every four hours she got a shot of whiskey to help her detox the poison from her system. so she could hopefully skip the delirium tremens part, the d.t.'s -


“hummers” they called those shots back then. 

this man, jack, who brought her the whiskey, ended up doing what every sane person will tell you to never do. get involved and fall in love with someone who is brand new sober. jack had twenty years clean. 

my mother would stand up at those meetings, meetings where I would see half the judges from the courthouse, a famous rock star or two, and introduce herself by saying “hello, I am mary and I am an alcoholic.” 

there is a saying in the big book of aa that “there are some of us who are incapable of being honest.” they wrote that part with my mom in mind. though she would pay lip service in the company she was in, her head had a mind of its own. she and jack moved in together, eventually marrying and then they both started drinking together. 


many disasters later, after setting places on fire, getting evicted, and basically losing all their life savings, jack finally succumbed to cancer. he never stopped loving my mother, though. it was crazy. 

it was the only kind of love I knew. crazy love.

i got a call from my brother. she is in the hospital with pneumonia. she is 85. we’re irish. in my family you only get a call if there is an impending funeral or a wake. that was about the only time I would see the relatives and the mounds of potato salad, ham, deviled eggs and scotch.

the day we left the motel

that's when we bought our house. the one with the rental. after the motel.

i called it (our new home), the winchester mystery house. that was because no one ever knew where to find the front door and once inside, they didn't know which hallway to go down to get back out! yep. the people who owned it before us just kept adding and adding and...

lady winchester was told by a psychic that if she kept building her house she would never die. and she believed it. or just desperately wanted to believe. she would have her contractors add stairs and then tear them out and put them back somewhere else. some of them simply ended up dead ending at a wall. maybe she couldn't see the metaphor. the dead ending and all.  it reminded me of one of my favorite plays, called...no exit.

i bought our home because it was the house no body wanted. it didn't make any sense nor could anyone make sense of it.

i had a vision.

While we were living at the motel I had to sneak in my cat. The great news was, I had trained her to ride in the car. That was cool, my tabby cat riding shotgun. She was really there for me in my time of sorrow. At night, she would jump onto my bed, find her way under the covers and snuggle in close right next to me. How do they know? That was probably one of the sweetest surprises that helped to get me through. A warm body lying next to me at night! 

I guess sometimes though, we just never know who that warm body will be.

a day with no name

My father and I were never close after he left. I was so...alone. My brother’s went to live with him because they were too wild and I got to stay with the crazy woman. I thought the only reason she kept me was so she could get a child support check every month which I saw her trade in for vodka. I wanted to break every bottle of booze I saw on the grocery shelf. I somehow could only blame them for the unhappiness of my childhood. I did not know, until I was in my 20’s, that it wasn't my fault my mother drank. It was always, “If you kids didn’t do this or that, I wouldn’t drink.” They say it is a disease. It didn't matter to me what anyone wanted to name it. All we knew was that it terrorized and traumatized all of our lives and the only one left standing (when she wasn’t passed out) was my mother who was mostly blissfully unaware of the havoc she was wrecking. My brothers started drinking and using drugs at a very young age. I swore I would never let alcohol touch my lips. Ha! That lasted until I got into a relationship with a very cute wannabe rock star when I turned 21.

easter sun day

the year before the last.


...I had a lot of stress. When my "significant other" finally got the courage to break up with me he had the mandatory “other woman” in the background…the male version of an anti-anxiety drug. I guess he overlooked the fact I happened to be living with him at his home with my two children.  Of course, he would not admit he had “another woman," though i asked and pleaded... to try to understand... why??? 


On some level I must have known he did, but trying to make sense of all the lies he was throwing at me only magnified the possibility I might require a potential trip to the nuthouse. But I handled it. And I didn't break anything. I just moved us out. That day. To a motel. What did I tell my kids? I simply told them: we don’t want to wear out our welcome.



There is no pain I can remember that was as deep as the loss of that relationship. It was a physically palpable pain, tearing away at me and wrenching me to the depths of my entire being. I remember the wounded-ness of it, the fogginess and despair, the absolute emptiness I was afraid might consume me. This was the man I had loved, with all of my being, who I thought loved me. How was this happening? 


Tossed out like garbage, for a temporary replacement. 


I had once told him, chasing someone else is like trying on a new pair of pants; new fit, different size. but you know what? New pants get old and worn out too.

why do i feel more beautiful than ever?

because...i am alive.

i am single

i am a mother

i am a woman

i take care of myself

i laugh a lot

i am silly more

i have learned to cry

i have learned to trust

i have a god who holds me tight

i am listening to the music of my soul

i have learned to laugh at my gold teeth, which are a real conversation piece to anyone under 3 ft. tall!

why do i feel more beautiful than ever?

because beauty is an inside job and no matter what the state of the economy,  i am more than qualified for the position.

xx/00

thursdays

i had this amazing experience yesterday. a professional person, who had actually read my entire blog, commented to me directly that she was sorry i was so tortured by my money story. wow. tortured. that is quite the word.
so i decided to not take that comment with the perennial grain of salt, but instead chose to become overwhelmingly sad and reclusive upon hearing what i perceived to be some very bad news indeed. the following day, that would be today as it took me over 24 hours to recover, i asked myself: self, is this how you appear? is she and everyone else missing the ever present, though sometimes barely perceptible, silver lining?
in other words, don't you all know this sinking ship is righting its way up?
this then is my theory- it is all a story and simply my current means to an end. or a new beginning. or maybe just acceptance of what is.

and since i promised an update, and, we were speaking about my tortured relationship with money- john texted me he would have the delinquent april and future may rent next week.

we all know about that next week thing.

do you realize how confusing the this week, next week thing can be? depending on the day of communication?

in another future forecast- the fresh, new tenants have sent me a copy of the signed lease and i patiently await their deposit. check's in the mail.
this, for now, is life in the rental lane.

tuesday

i wonder if i have become an insufferable bore. i get up. i have a cup of coffee. get the kids to school. i work. till 7. make the kids dinner. i work. till 9. so we can survive. i am bored with the routine. i am bored with my life as i recount it.

it is the moments in between that save me. when i am in awe of the wisteria i planted growing like the vine in the tale of jack and the beanstalk. when my kitty gazes serenely at me with her yellow diamond cat eyes and does her best sphinx pose. when my son smiles so that his dimples show. when my son's friend who is 6'2" reaches out to me for a hug because he lost his own mother last year. when my son's godfather makes us a fine meal and does my grocery shopping. when i realize how grateful i am to be able to buy groceries! these then are the moments in between, when everything becomes not just tolerable, but safe.

the day the crying stopped.

now i am wondering. how important is it, are they, those little nuances we call feelings? what are they? who do they belong to? how did they get there?


The crashing cymbals of her voice woke me from my silvery night. “Please, honey, please bring me something to drink. I have to have something. I promise baby, this will be the last time. I need it. You don’t understand. I have to have it!”

At first I wouldn’t answer, hoping that maybe one of my brothers would respond. Then my heart would start beating wildly in my chest, terrified that one of them would go in and there would be another fight. And she would get ugly. It was as if Jekyll and Hyde existed in my own mother, the mother who tried to take my father’s life over a bottle of booze.

She had come in quietly that night. I was barely seven. We were sleeping in my brother’s room and I woke up immediately when she entered. Even at that tender age my senses were as raw and honed as a knife. Everything went into slow motion. I remember lying there, frozen, watching her clumsily lumber over to where my father was sleeping in the other twin bed. Her massive, pendulous breasts were swinging awkwardly through her dirty, half open nightdress. She had a machete knife in one hand. and time. just. stopped. From far away I heard someone screaming as I saw her lift the knife high above her head and knew her intention was for it to come crashing down into my father’s heart. “Where is it?” she screeched, “What have you done to it?” The slow motion time frame sped up and I saw my father’s arms flailing wildly, reaching up to stop the knife as it came plummeting down, narrowly missing its target.

No one ever spoke about it again and my father left us soon after.

I had nightmares until I was eighteen, sure that the knife in her hand would finally find its rightful target-me. Those were the days I remember. Not much else, just the terror and the screaming and the fear, the crying and pleading and begging. The thousand promises that she would stop drinking, only she never did. The sanitariums and humiliation and embarrassment that I wore encased around my young body like a straitjacket. Those were the days of wine and roses. We lived in a beautiful home that held not beauty. I used to sit in the dark on the stairs outside at night, waiting for her to come home. Too afraid to be alone in the house, afraid that someone would come and get me. If it were too cold I would scrunch my knees to my skinny chest and sit in the narrow hallway so no eyes could find me through the mountains of glass that surrounded our home. When I finally saw her headlights coming up the hill my bleary eyes had a brief moment of imagined relief. Until we went in the house and then my fear once again escalated, because I was no longer afraid of some stranger breaking into our home and hurting me. I was afraid of her.

monday

i spoke to a friend today. it was all about f-e-e-l-i-n-g-s.
yes. i like to spell it out. it is occurring to me that perhaps the reason i am so bloody stuck is that i am not quite in touch with my feelings! ...giant roll of the eyes here. but now i wonder if there may be some truth in that.
i did not cry until i was 28.

My mother hated my father after he left. She never had anything good to say about him and she became extremely fearful and worried about money. She would sit at the dining room table balancing her checkbook, counting her pennies, checking all the receipts to see who had overcharged her what for something. I grew up feeling very powerless and very poor. She asked the priest one day, if he thought she was living her hell right here on earth. He murmured something in agreement. I guess she forgot she had a little traveling companion right alongside her. When I was young, I swore I would never be anything like her. But as I grew older I saw that all the neuroses that had made up her, had been collected and sown on my heart. I seemed to have inhaled them by breathing in her presence all those years. Now, when I am faced with something scary, like my physical well-being, I am not sure what or who to grab onto and hold.

this was sunday

for some reason unbeknownst to me i have been suffering from this crazy exhaustion/sadness. no. i do not want to even mention the d- word. ok. i will spell it out then.
d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n.
wow. if i could just turn that into some outrageous scrabble move.
nope. no fun whatsoever-while the caffeine has definitely stopped working, all i can hope for is a good nite's sleep to quell the major symptoms.
in those moments, when i am feeling anything but zen or invigorated - basically useless in other words- what, or who, am i longing for?

p.s.

om double g!
i finally caved in and decided to follow my own blog.
yes, i have noticed i have no other followers.
and yet, even though i can neither see you nor do i ever hear from you, i believe you are out there, somewhere, and simply may not have gotten around to saying hello.
(you see, this is how i manage. i am so cunningly adept at making up stories).
so hello there. buon giorno, etc. etc. etc. and welcome!
...insert smiley face.

day 15

i am in a bit of  a funk. really. i had this thought that, well, perhaps if nothing came out of my mouth that was not positive... the results could be stupendous?
note my own doubt.
it would of course, have to be an experiment as i have never managed to maintain either perfect composure or perfect sanity 24/7.
in other words, with all the bravado i have been supposedly maintaining, there is a rather large overriding piece of me running out of steam. and all of my famous reserves appear to have taken reservations elsewhere!
yes, we have got a new tenant...once i get the check! they will be arriving july 1. hopefully! they will be moving into our home and we shall be moving into the guest cottage. does this means we are now the guests of our own home?
i have been through several rounds of let go of the home.
obviously, the game is not over. i have been hesitant on a few fronts as my state is scathingly close to immersion in sadness and tears. and, oh, how i dread that.
all right then. i think for the next hour, i am going to allow myself to be unbecomingly sorrowful and pathetic and needy. perhaps then i shall get it out of my system!
that in itself is a cheery thought. i feel at last, a small smile come to me.
actually, i feel several rounds of cheeriness making their mark upon my face.
all right then. let's jump into the pot of overwhelming sadness and angst and see how long i can take it!

wednesday

should we take bets on the check?
how many in favor of the premise: "of course it went through!"
or... let's hear a word from the opposites: "hel-lo-o! obvious! once a bad egg.... of course it's a no good check!"
yep. the winner is...obvious. bad egg rules and i am the loser of dough ray me.
i never liked easter.
then, just to compound things, i make an error. i get mad. and i am tired. tired of chasing the deposit and the tremor of my financial uncertainty. the constant tennis match- back and forth, back and forth. now i got it, now i gotta live with out it.
so i text him and the girlfriend- "i want it NOW" and he says i am "talking in fighting words, that he had once considered (notice the past tense?) me a friend, and now this has shown my- different side!"
wow. how did that happen?
and how come I am feeling bad??? and why do i think i should apologize?
oh- i hate it when people tell me i screw up and i believe them.
and speaking of friends, is this how one treats them????

ummmmm... what day is it????

who's counting?
ahhhh. deep sigh, giant exhalation. today is a good day. i took a walk. it was amazing! i noticed things. like brick and paint and color. and then i noticed my knee hurt. a lot. i had been thinking, quite a lot of thinking actually, about getting down on both of those knees and having a little one on one time with the big potatoe upstairs. you know. god. now don't get offended about the potatoe reference. it's my irish roots. me and potatoes... we are tight! so there i was, contemplating, thinking, wondering if maybe that was the key. the knee thing. but instead, i said to myself, self, let's go on a walk and have a chat while we are walking with the potatoe man. i love that multi tasking thing, and so i did. and then my knee, my left knee in case you are wondering, really started hurting. and it hurt so much i had to pause the conversation and simply hope (no- it didn't occur to me to pray at that time, either). i would make it home! which i suppose you can guess- i did. hmmmm. that knee thing. coincidence?
still have not made it to the floor- on those knees that is.

day ten

redeposited the rent check today. will keep you posted. he told me, the absentee tenant, he said- via text-  that this is what the bank would do. the redeposit part.
they did indeed- good bank.
let's hope for the best. no. let's not go there yet. perhaps i was too anxious? perhaps i should have waited till saturday, the date he had on the check. i know, i know, new information. but he didn't say not deposit it till saturday. and i was really nervous. yes. money nervous. perhaps i could have gotten more information. ie: "john? why is the check postdated for saturday the 9th?" ...fill in the blanks.
in the meantime, in my new and improved think out of the box frame of mind, i entered a modeling contest for people who are peri menopausal. you know. over 35. why? why in the world did i enter this contest? why else? money. fame. glory. the usual. and, a trip to the big apple. my favorite city of all! of the top 150 women with the most votes the judges will choose three winners. top 150! piece of cake. how hard can that be? well, i figure i have as good a chance as anyone. past 35 it becomes one giant L'oreal melting pot, especially sans the plastic surgery. but the contestants kept growing and growing and the votes- for other women- kept multiplying and multiplying. i started falling behind. how are those other women doing it? they must be cheating!
hmmmm.

day 9-odd?

the rent check bounced. not mine. the one he left before he left.
money. i have indeed become my mother. counting my pennies and nickels and dimes. how? and howl... those two are in constant rewind mode. one the question, two the response.

today we are reconfiguring the living arrangements.

one for the mother, two the teenagers, one the 70 year old godfather.
when the tenants left so abruptly, i, of course reacted by jumping into my never ending role of adapt survivor mode. we, the family shall relocate to the small unit and rent the large one. twice the bang for the buck, see? i know our local money guru- who shall remain nameless -would advise me to sell. her thinking is that we, of the constantly losing middle class are to all become renters and let go of the "american dream" of home ownership. ah! but if we are all to become renters, suze, (oh dear. did i give it away?) then who are the homeowner's from whom we shall rent? those nasty rich people of which i have never been one!
i know, nasty is a strong word, but let me whine for just a moment. it's not fair! there! much better. got that out of my system, now.
cuppla ideas.
sell the house. right. at a loss? who knows? maybe i'll get lucky.
hmmmm. my friend said i should try the model thing again. well. i am 57. silver hair would be good. kind of a mandatory requirement. so she says: "get a wig."

day 8-even

why not? who says i have to only be odd?
anyway. here is the bottom line. i need to make some money! well, i actually need to make a lot of money. yes! i think this is the thread that ties it all together. hmmmm. at the moment though, i don't have a single brainstorm. and i certainly don't want to sell advertising on my blog!  people do that, don't they?
my friend tried to get me to sell some type of nectar to boost one's immune system, but i never got to even try a sample- and yes, i asked several times.
she was so sold on the whole marketing thing i don't think she even cared if the stuff was good or not. their whole pitch had her sold. it was very cloak and dagger'd and secretive with log in times to hear the pitch, etc.
no-thank you. not interested.
i personally cannot, nor have i ever been able to sell something i don't believe in or use myself.
and this internet thing, well, this is quite the way to go, eh? i mean, here i am, just like carried away snodgrass, typing away on my computer! dating, money, oh, and of course, sex. when will the sex come in?
hmmmmm. no. let's not go there. at least not just yet. let's just leave that to others...

day 7...

...i think... that it is. day 7.  i mean.
enter my world, and welcome... to money hell. yes, i was raised in a faith that described hell as a damnation, a burning, and even though it was hot hot hot it is not the hot you or i want!
no.
my nightmare, compulsion, angst, addiction, problema, etc. now is unravelling at the speed of light and completely and all encompassing and everything ism'd money related!
ha!
had you fooled, didn't i? and you thought it all had to do with a HIM. no. and wrong. and. period. and not mine. (the period).
no. money insanity. counting change. counting sheep. losing sleep. counting the days till mortgage, taxes, insurance are due.
oh! you say. what great problems! at least you have a mortgage! oh. spare me a kind word you who are not so feint of heart-for I, who ache to muster a barb forthwith in your direction with an appropriate shakespearean retort!
alas, i am not shakespeare and shakespeare i am aware did not write a blog and from what i know, did not own a computer, either!
so. let's get down to it. the money triage. keeps me awake at night, yee, with the worry and doubt and frettiness of it all.

day 5

i'm on a roll here. odd. hittin' all the odd days. 1,3,5.
what?
ah, i ain't even yet. no way. today, i heard myself talking- to a neighbor, to a friend. tmi. too much information?
i come from the world of complete and total privacy, secrecy is probably a much better way to describe it. then, along comes age and angst and spilling over to the opposite extreme.
but today is a good day, a sunny day. i liked today.
ahhhh.
a man. i had, have still i suppose, a crush on. as do a million other women. he and i, in our separate worlds, we emailed back and forth-twice so far. no, i did not find him on a dating site. i found him at the movies. as did the million other women. a documentary he made called "may i be frank." amazing, fun, hippie, bohemian, blasphemous tale of transformation.
so, two emails, it's his turn now and once again, no word. i don't care as much. i was obsessed. i had to give that up. obsession. not a good thing. worse than a couple gallons of ice cream in one sitting. yep. obsession sits in your brain and clogs up every nerve and emotion till all is as frozen as the ice cream i didn't eat!
but i think about him. occasionally. will we ever meet again? hmmmm. maybe. will i blush again like i did the first time i spoke to him. probably. crushes. crushes are fun. flirting is good. obsession-no good- obsession is the meltdown.

day 3.

are you counting???? do you see i missed a day? that is because i was having a LOUSY day yesterday! and i rarely use cap's. so that is practically like swearing!
why???? why did i have such a bad day? well. let's get real and personal. it was not just "a day." it was several days...lots of days, one right after the other rolling into one incredibly dissatisfying meteoric meltdown.
and so, you ask, what did i do to raise my limp and lifeless body from the ashes???
ahhhhhh. well, as i was back in my crazy making worry thinking how many things can i crowd into my tiny little neuron cranial cavity called my head and as i felt the palpitations and furrows begin squeezing and working their harrowing crevassing on my face and body.....
i called a friend.
she yelled- "what?? why are you worrying about something six months from now that is not here today! that is crazy!!!
i don't know. it seemed logical to me that if i did not have money besides six months of reserves and the plans the architect had drawn had not taken into account one's need for privacy and now there would have to be a costly fix cuz my tenants had not given notice and literally disappeared two days ago with five months of rent still outstanding and if there was no privacy there would be no future renters- cuz that is what everyone who came to look at it to rent told me and if there was no rental there would be no income and....
so.
besides doing what i really think i want to do is sit down and write a country song-  i started over.
mmm hmmm. i know. you don't know how to do that.
stay tuned. more will be revealed.

day 1.

omg. (oh, my god), if you are as old as i am and are unfamiliar with acronyms and texting.
go ahead- ask away- why in the world am i writing a blog? good question. first answer: i cannot afford therapy. there. it is out, straightforward and to the point. second: why not? third: because.
ok. let's get on with it.
i am 57 with a fake screen name. why? hmmmm. well, obviously i don't want anyone i know to know i am writing this. secondly, because.
which will provide the answer to a lot of your questions if they even come up here. mostly, though, i want to provide answers and maybe, well, i guess we shall see what light the maybe will bring.
now. down to business.
to begin, i suppose i will start in the middle. or the present. and then on to my middle.
i have recently ended an 8 1/2 year relationship. great, right? i mean, great that I ended it! that is a good thing. HE did not. well, he did the first time, but i certainly got him back now, didn't i?
why? good question. let's see. where do i begin? he was not interested in commitment. oh, that was ok. i didn't believe it- i knew i could change him. so, i struggled along with that one for a few years. what else? he also didn't want to raise my kids. with a been there, done that attitude. and, yes, there was a large age difference. classic. older guy, younger woman. and yes, it was absolutely, totally insane. the part about him not wanting to raise my children and me sticking around. oh, i thought i could make that work! ok. now we are beginning to pick up a pattern here. third. he lied. fourth. he cheated. well, i didn't know about four of course, until i checked his email which i now hear may be a punishable by law offense, so...Be Careful Ladies! now, you get the picture. but no. i could not just pack up and leave after the first clanging siren and red flag warning. no way! my choice was to buck up and shut up and cling, unbecomingly, to all the glitz, glam and "love" he tossed in my direction.
am i odd????
sadly, i seem to be more the norm than not.
they have programs for people like me.