The Blog That Almost Never Happened (Because I'm A Big Ol' Scaredy Cat)

*Prepare yourself...this will be a long one*

Sometimes we meet people, and at inception, you know that the two of you belong together.  As lovers, as friends, as a surrogate family, or as some other variant.  You might not know the "hows" or "whys," but you know that this person....this person is meant for you.

You two just work.

Together you create.  Together you love & laugh & learn.
Together, you are partners in crime.  

Throughout your life you meet these people, sometimes due to the strangest of circumstances, and these people help you make a life worth living.

After meeting, you see little parts of yourself systematically morph, ever so gradually that you don't realize you are different until the changes take hold.  You look at your current self and see that the person you were is no longer the person reflected in the mirror.  Physically you are the same, but subtle differences can be seen.

Eyes that shine a bit brighter.  Scowls are a thing of the past, replaced by *maybe* deeper laugh lines.  Posture straightens.  Positivity almost seems to radiate from within.

Isn't it funny, then, how that same person who awakens, incites change, can then destroy?

Doubt dulls the eyes.  Confusion brings forth frowns.  Sadness makes you small.  Internal emotional warfare envelops you, creating a dark cloud that is never far from your person.

Ironic isn't it?

I met someone like this, maybe five years ago.  I was a different person, had a different life, back then, therefore, the basis of our relationship was purely platonic.  The nature of our lives dictated that we went our separate ways and eventually lost touch.  Luckily, we were able to reconnect earlier this year, and I was overjoyed to continue our interrupted friendship.

We just worked. 

We share a similar fucked up sense of humor.  Our personalities compliment one another.  I respect him as a man for the choices he has made and for what he offers to his community, family & friends.  He possesses maturity, but has never lost the ability to be a little silly.  He harbors no ill will toward children.  He has character, morals, and a sense of self.

He is also a giant pain in my ass

This is all my best friend's fault...yep, totally putting all the blame on you.  I guess she felt that I had spent enough time grieving my failed marriage, and urged me to:

1. Get my shit together

2. Get my shit together some more because, knowing me, she knew I did a half-assed job on completing #1

3. Move the fuck on 

I think she knew I was living a half-life of sorts.  One half was haunted by the past, and the other half was looking with hope toward the future.  So her brilliant plan was this:  Hint to both of us how "good" we would be together because of our similarities.  I was resistant due to my emotional situation but didn't refuse because we were friends once...I wanted to reclaim that friendship, I had no expectations for anything romantic.  He seemed to also feel the same because we did start a dialogue...text messages, phone calls, FaceBook interactions.

Somewhere along the way I began to smile more.  Somewhere along the way I found myself happier.  Somewhere along the way I began to live again instead of just existing in a state of apathy.  Laughter came more frequently.  I joked with and teased loved ones more.  My newly reinvigorated attitude influenced so many aspects of my life; I stopped living within my mind so much...I emerged and began interacting with people more.  

Somewhere along the way I fell for him, and that was very dangerous turn of events.

Dangerous because he made me believe in the impossible again.

Was he solely responsible for the change?  No.  He did, however, play a part.  He, in addition to others, was instrumental in cracking the ugly, dark walls I was confining myself in.  I was drowning in self-induced loathing, and they were a lifeline...whether he, or the others, knew it at the time.  With that help, I took the first of many steps toward self-actualization.

And, just as quickly as his reemergence was, he disappeared.  
His presence in my life ceased.

I was taken by complete surprise you see...never had any inclination that he would suddenly just stop talking to me, stop responding to texts, just stop all communication like I didn't exist anymore.  

What a dick right?!  I may have uttered that a few times....

Well, I got some bullshit explanation from him many weeks later.  His job kept him busy...which I can believe, BUT I have a strong opinion on the excuse "been busy," but I understood given the nature of his job.  Gave me some metaphor about his life being a roller coaster and I didn't hang on tight enough...yeah, alrighty then, so not going to go there.  

The truth is....I got the brush off.  I got some bullshit half-truth instead of full disclosure.

It hurt.  Still does in fact.  I hesitantly say, but not at all embarrassed to say, he crosses my mind daily.  I mostly think, How could I have misjudged the situation/him so badly?  And, Why the fuck is some part of me still holding on...still thinking about him when he clearly doesn't give a shit, when I, nor our friendship, clearly does not mean much?

But that's the thing right?!  We all have experienced, at some point, the inability to
Just. Stop.

I know when to stop.  I know when to let things go.  I know when to move on.  

But, I know is different from I can.

There are two reasons, in my opinion, for people coming into your life, blessings or lessons.

Which one was he?  

Blessing Aspect:  I was vulnerable, hurting, full of self-doubt when we reconnected.  He helped me find laughter again.  Not that polite chuckling shit.  That pure, honest kind of laughter-the kind that heals.  He helped me to re-knit my playful personality.  He helped me find me again.

Lesson Aspect:  He helped to remind me that people are rarely who you think they are; You must be cautiously optimistic.  He helped to remind me that not everyone can be held to my expectations because it is unfair to expect people to conduct themselves like I would in any given situation.  He helped to remind me, that as amazing as I am, I will never be enough for a man that isn't ready...I must come to accept all that I am is enough for me.

I am resigned to say that we were in fact meant for each other, in a most heart-aching, sorrowful way.  Was it fate? Coincidence? Sheer dumb luck?  I do not think the ulterior motivation really matters anymore, and I'm ok with that.  All I do know is that I met him for a reason that took years to play-out, years to come to fruition.

That reason was he was meant to be both a blessing and teach a lesson.

In the end, I owe him my gratitude.

Child Art+Me=Hilarity

My daughter loves painting, coloring, drawing with sidewalk chalk;  If she can create with it, she is all about it.

So it was no surprise that when I got out her 2,395 bottles of paint the other day, she painted a picture solely for my pleasure.

*I may have exaggerated the number of paint bottles a bit*

My daughter:  "Mommy!  Look...I painted this picture for you!  Do you love it?!"

Me:  *not really looking*  "Yes love, your pictures are always the best."

My daughter:  "Look at it then!"

Me:  "Oh my gosh...are those...boobs?  Did you paint me boobs?  What happened to flowers or grossly misshapen visages of me?!  I would gladly take one of those.  Those I understand...boobs, not so much."

My daughter:  "They're wheels Mom....wheels."

Me:  "Oh, ok.  Wheels huh?  They totally look like boobs.  Thanks for my not boobs wheel picture.  It's the best."

My daughter:  *sighs*  "I guess I'll go make them square."

Me:  "No!  Don't...I totally love it.  And, I really don't want to have the whole 'square wheels don't roll' conversation."

My daughter: *looking confused*  "What are you talking about?  Never mind."  *walks away*


And now for your viewing pleasure, I present....

Not Boobs but Actually Wheels (that look like boobs)

It was an honest mistake.

Home Repairs....Misery Be Thy Name

So, my toilet broke two nights ago....

As I stood there, staring down at the "guts" of my toilet, I realized I had no fucking clue what to do.   

Every single male member of my family was unavailable

I'm on a very tight budget so I didn't want to call a plumber.  So after a FaceTime with my brother, who had a vague idea of the problem but was not able to make the trip to fix it, I kind of shut down.  I never thought my downfall, emotionally anyway, would come at the hands of a freaking toilet.

This time last year, my husband would take care of these types of problems.  Before I married, boyfriends.  Before boyfriends, my father.  I have always had someone else take care of repairs, yard care, vehicle maintenance, etc.  I handled the bills, family schedule, housework, daughter, etc.  How very 1950's of us right?  It worked for us, my husband and I, and until recently, it worked well.

After absently staring at my stupid piece of shit toilet, I left the bathroom and watched television...resolved to deal with the issue tomorrow.

The next day my step-mother came up to the office and normal conversation ensued.  I mentioned my toilet predicament and, surprisingly, she knew how to fix it.  After a quick trip to the local hardware store, I watched my step-mother, huddled around its base, fix my toilet, all the while instructing me on how to do this myself if it were to happen again or to the other toilet in the house.  As I watched her replace the broken part, I realized that Once Upon A Time...


She was me.


My step-mother, as well as my own mother, were also single moms.  They struggled with children, jobs, homes, money, and a dozen other issues.  I didn't ask at the time, but I imagine that my step-mother and mother had someone show them how to fix a toilet, or garbage disposal, or lawn mower because what once a non-issue, was now a necessity befitting their attention.  They either stepped up and educated themselves or reached out for instruction.

I know some of you out there might be sarcastically thinking:

Oh poor you...you've had such a rough time of it...making your own repairs, mowing your own grass, etc...you are so mistreated.  

Well...fuck you.  Just, fuck you...you judgmental asshole.

I know that I have been afforded many blessings.  I've been lucky enough to have someone(s) help shoulder responsibilities.  I have never out-right refused manual labor, I just have never had to do them. Now that my life has changed course, so to speak, I have no "in-house support" to rely on.  It now falls to me.  I alone have to fix shit if it breaks, cut the grass if I want to avoid being fined by the city and/or losing my daughter in tall grass while she plays in the backyard, and not only schedule car maintenance but get the car to the service station...among other things.

At the end of the day, it is solely my responsibility now, and as scary as that is for me, I am finding that I am discovering underlying happiness.

I had a ceiling fan in my living room spend the better part of a year with only three of the four lights working.  The light bulb broke off when I was removing a burnt-out bulb and subsequently became stuck.  I asked my husband to get the metal-thingie out so I could put in a replacement bulb.  Well, he never did.  Then he left.  The fan stayed that way for months....still able to function, but not complete, not as it was meant to be.  It bothered me, but I had no idea how to get that damn metal-thingie out.  I had no clue if a specific tool was needed.  Was I going to have replace the entire fan?  Did I need to cut power to the house?  Such a seemingly small, easy-to-fix job and I had no idea how to go about it.  I asked my step-brother about it one day at work.  He gave his opinion on what my options were and that night I went home and got that mother-fucking metal thingie out!  As I looked up at my, now in complete working order, ceiling fan, a sense of empowerment came over me.  It didn't matter that I had spent months looking at the pitiful, handicapped fan; at a complete loss as to fix it.  It didn't matter that I had to ask how to repair it.  It didn't matter that I had to MacGyver a pair of scissors to unscrew the left-over light bulb part.  

All that mattered was that I did it...I fixed it.


So seeing the toilet broken brought me back to standing underneath my broken ceiling fan.  My sense of accomplishment and empowerment evaporated...replaced by hopelessness and pain.  You see, in these rare moments, I am reminded that my husband is gone.  He will never return.  I can no longer turn to him to make things whole again.  I can no longer turn to him for support when I've had a hard day.  I can no longer sit side-by-side on the couch in comfortable silence.  The wound I have been painstakingly repairing is ripped open, once again raw and bleeding.

I compartmentalize and/or reach out to friends and family.  I have hope that, one day, I will not need to lean so heavily on others.  I will have no need to look to others...I will look within and find all that I need.  I have hope that my wound will become nothing more than a scar that might ache from time to time, but will not incapacitate.

I know that I will gain knowledge along the way.  I know that I will gain experience, probably from failing more than succeeding.

I will gain strength

I might not have all the answers, I might not have a vast reserve of experience to draw from, and I do not have someone at home to share my burdens, but I do have a little girl who's hugs have the power to halt tears and who's laughter can help mend broken hearts.